R&I - Killing Me Softly
by Fenway03
Summary: What if you were a cop and you had vowed to protect innocents from harm but suddenly you were forced to choose between letting 50 people die or killing 1 person? And what if that 1 person happened to be someone you couldn't afford to lose? Do the needs of the many really outweigh the needs of the few? [See Author's Note for more details.]
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**__ This is a bit of an experiment for me, and you're welcome to join the ride. If you've heard of the "Trolley Problem" in Ethics/Philosophy, you'll understand the summary above. But don't worry if you haven't — it'll be explained. If you want to learn more, go to YouTube and search for Harvard's "Justice with Michael Sandel" — it'll make you think and/or come up with crime stories like this one. But please, kids, don't do any of this at home. It's just fiction… ;-)_

_In case you're wondering:  
__Yes, there will be Rizzles all the way. But it's the first time I'm writing them like this (it was originally going to be a Castle fanfic), so don't rush them._

_Also, there'll be minor references to my previous story about Frost's death. If you haven't read that one: Frost died in an explosion and it strengthened the bond between Jane & Maura, which serves as the foundation for this story here. _

_Provided I won't get hit by an asteroid or find a hidden stash of cookies, the chapters will last at least until February 25 to shorten the time until the rest of Season 4. Speaking of which: _

_**Dear writers of the show: **__(if you happen to read this) If the rumors are true and there'll be a pregnancy scare for Jane, then please, get rid of that baby! This show needs more drama, not more drooling! Thank you! (And it goes without saying that Casey isn't suitable relationship material. Who the hell wants to be blackmailed into marriage?! O_o)_

_**Copyright: **__As usual, all language errors are mine and so is the story. The characters belong to Tess Gerritsen & TNT. I hope they'll forgive me this unusual foray into Rizzles territory. _

_Thanks for reading. Feedback will be much appreciated._

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**Chapter 1**

_**April 5, 2014 **_

"You're not going to like this…," Maura says, her voice hoarse from a cold but surprisingly calm given the circumstances.

"What the hell is this?" Jane frowns as she stands at the other side of the bars and looks around in the windowless room, trying to understand the scenario presented to her.

"He wants you to kill me," Maura replies and tries to keep her posture on the chair to which her hands are cuffed behind her back.

"Well, too bad, I'm not his genie in the bottle," Jane snorts and worriedly notices the two wires connected to Maura's hands and to a spot beneath her pullover, close to her heart.

"You will have to do it," the blonde insists. She has already spent the last few hours playing through all options in her head, and she knows there is no other way out.

"Not funny, Maura!" the detective resolutely brushes aside the suggestion.

"There is a bomb in Fenway Park," Maura warns. "If you don't do it, dozens of innocents will die."

"Maura, I won't kill you," Jane declares firmly and scrutinizes the bars separating her from the blonde. "Now, help me get us outta here…"

"Listen to me, Jane! There is _a bomb_. It will explode in…" The medical examiner glances at the timer in a corner of the room. "…in 18 minutes."

"Well, then help me stop it, for God's sake!" The detective's patience has long run out.

"You can't," Maura objects. "There is not enough time. And you'd only cause a mass panic if you tried to evacuate people…"

Jane angrily rattles at the bars in an attempt to determine their robustness. "Just tell me exactly what's going on, and we'll figure it out."

"You already know what's going on," the blonde sighs but fails to get the detective's attention. "Jane, look at me."

Still scanning the bars and the walls for a potential way out, Jane keeps ignoring the other woman. "We don't have time for discussions, Maura. Tell me exactly what he said and what he did and—"

"Jane! Will you listen to me?!" Desperation flashes over Maura's face.

"I _am_ listening to you! And you're talking nonsense," Jane protests. "I won't kill you, Maura."

"You'll have to. There is no other way."

Silence fills the room as the two women finally lock eyes. They both know what this is about, what the consequences will be. They both know that this is it. This is the end.

…

…

_**March 31 — Five Days **__**Earlier**_

It was the first truly pleasant day after weeks and months of arctic blizzards, muddy thawing weather, and early spring rains. It was also the first day warm enough for wearing shorts during a late morning run, for eating ice-cream in the park, or for sipping coffee outside of Faneuil Hall while watching the world go by. And it was the first day of the Red Sox 2014 season, which was scheduled to begin with an away game against the Baltimore Orioles in the early afternoon on this sunny Monday.

And for some reason still beyond her grasp, Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts without any prior interest in baseball, had been looking forward to this day with the tingling excitement of a seven-year-old before a visit to Disneyland.

It may have had something or everything to do with the fact that her best friend, Detective Jane Rizzoli, had been meticulously planning every detail for her favorite sports team's opening game and that she had decided to celebrate the occasion with the medical examiner. Granted, with Jane's brothers being busy — Frankie was running an undercover operation for Lieutenant Martinez, and Tommy was on a potty training mission with his son T.J. — and with Frank Rizzoli Sr. being mostly irrelevant these days, Maura might have only been Jane's second choice, but the detective could have easily found some more baseball-literate officers at BPD to keep her company during the game. However, Jane had insisted on Maura joining her, and Maura had gladly agreed — even after the detective had made her promise to wear a not-so-fashionable Red Sox jersey. _For superstitious reasons_, Jane had said.

Maura still didn't care much about America's favorite pastime nor about the associated traditions and superstitions, but she did care about Jane. Especially after everything they had been through together — several exhausting cases at work, Casey's final departure, and then Detective Frost's tragic death in a restaurant bombing about five months ago. Life had thrown them a curveball, but it had also strengthened their bond. And after all the stress and hardships of the long winter, the first weeks of spring had finally brought joy and laughter back into their lives. A relaxed day at Jane's with baseball and Cracker Jacks and beer — and a glass of red wine after prolonged nagging from Maura — was exactly what they both needed and what they both had been looking forward to all week.

The only problem was that, once again, things didn't seem to go according to plan.

They had both taken the day off, except for emergencies, and originally, they had intended to squeeze in a quick morning run before proceeding with the detective's Red Sox opening day ritual, but judging from the text message that Maura had received half an hour ago, it seemed rather unlikely that Jane would be able to enjoy the game later that day.

At precisely 9:00 a.m., right when they had been supposed to start their run, Maura parked her dark Prius in front of Jane's apartment building, grabbed a bag of clothes she had planned to change into after their run, and gathered a plastic bag with a pharmacy logo, a net of oranges, and two packs of Kleenex from her passenger seat.

With a few quick steps, she reached the building's front door, snuck inside, and hurried up the stairs to Jane's apartment. She might have had to skip her morning run, but she would at least get some exercise on the way to her patient.

Barely out of breath and still wearing her designated running outfit, Maura knocked on the detective's apartment door.

When the only response she got was silence, the blonde wondered if she should just let herself in with her spare key. Maybe Jane had already gone back to sleep or maybe her condition had gotten worse by now…

Deciding to give it another try, Maura softly knocked again. And this time, she heard someone move around inside and shuffle towards the door. However, the apartment quickly fell silent again, at least for a second or two — until an ear-shattering sneeze from inside woke the rest of the neighborhood, followed by an assortment of swearwords from the sneezer that were clearly audible despite the still closed door.

"Jane, it's me…," Maura called out in response to the cursing.

After another loud sneeze, the door finally opened and revealed a miserably looking Jane in her pajamas and wrapped in her couch blanket, with tired, teary eyes and a red nose.

"What are you doing here? Didn't you get my text?" the germ-plagued detective rasped, her voice even huskier than usual.

"Yes, I did. That's why I'm here," Maura declared sympathetically.

"But…," Jane protested as Maura stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "I told you I can't run today and you should—"

"Actually," Maura cut her off and led her to the couch. "I believe your exact words were _'There are snottysnot balls shooting out of my nose and my head is about to explode and leave a Jackson Pollock of brain particles on my wall.'_" The medical examiner gently pushed Jane onto the couch and sat down next to her. "And after several years of experience, I'm pretty sure this is Detective Rizzoli speak for _'I want you to come over and help me even though I am too proud to ask.'_"

The brunette's cheeks took on an even darker shade of red and she sheepishly leaned back. "No, it's not…"

Maura knowingly tilted her head and placed the plastic bag from the pharmacy, the net of oranges, and the Kleenex on the messy couch table. "But I don't think you've really thought this through…"

Jane suspiciously raised her eyebrow. "Uh, why?"

"Because now you'll have to do as I say," the doctor grinned triumphantly.

"Oh…," was all that Jane managed to utter as she realized this tiny flaw in her otherwise brilliant plan.

"Have you already had breakfast?" the medical examiner asked while rearranging the pillows in Jane's back and making sure the detective was seated comfortably.

"Depends. How long did my Cocoa Puffs have to stay in my stomach for them to count as breakfast?" Jane wondered before another loud sneeze shook her whole body and sent a fresh fusillade of snot balls into the tissue in her hand.

Noticing the detective's slight trembling when her blanket slid away, Maura placed her hand on the brunette's forehead to feel her temperature. "You're hot," she concluded.

"Woah, Doctor Isles, hitting on your patient? Really?!" Jane tried to sound as teasingly cheerful as usual, though the subsequent round of coughing clearly confounded her intentions.

"You're running a fever," the doctor stated factually and rummaged through the plastic bag on the table. She fished out a phial of nose drops and a pack of pills and handed them to Jane. "Take one of these and then fight your _snottysnot balls_ with these nose drops. I'll make you some tea, and then we'll see about food."

Maura let her eyes wander over the apartment and the strategically placed tissue boxes — with trails of used tissues marking the different paths that Jane had taken through her apartment this morning. The thought of all the germs having a party on the detective's floor and furniture caused a distinctive frown on Maura's forehead. "But I suppose I should get rid of those Orthomyxoviridae playgrounds in your apartment first."

Jane peeked at the medical examiner from the side and couldn't help but feel a little guilty at the sight of Maura's resolve despite the disgust written all over her face. "Thank you…"

The blonde gave her a sympathetic smile in return and contemplated the detective's condition. Obviously, it had to be more than a mild cold, given that Jane didn't even add a sarcastic joke regarding Maura's intention to clean her place. For a moment, the medical examiner wondered if she should just ignore the army of germs silently conquering every nook and cranny of the apartment and instead remain on the couch and keep Jane warm in her blanket. Physical contact did strengthen the human immune system after all. Besides, it would present her with an inconspicuous opportunity to further explore those odd, tingly feelings that she had been sensing in Jane's presence ever since they—

"Maura…?"

"Huh?" The questioning look in Jane's face ripped Maura from her thoughts, and she realized that she must have been staring at the brunette all the while.

"I promise I'll take one of these even without you watching me like Nurse Ratched," Jane murmured huskily and popped one of the antipyretic pills from the pack Maura had given her.

"Sorry…," the blonde regained her composure. "I was just thinking about the… the most effective cure for your influenza."

Before Maura could apologize further, Jane let out another loud sneeze that was probably heard at the other end of the city. "Just shoot me," she whimpered into her tissue. "That'll do."

The doctor wrapped the blanket around Jane and pulled her into a comforting hug. "Why is it that you show up at work with broken bones, dislocated shoulders, and self-inflicted gunshot wounds but a simple cold will render you incapacitated?"

Jane pointedly blew her nose again. "And why is it that you carry disinfectants wherever you go but you have no problem sharing a room with all my germs?"

"Priorities, I suppose…," Maura admitted quietly, earning her a half-thankful, half-teasing glance from Jane.

"You'll regret it in a few days when you'll get this flu from hell," the brunette warned warmly.

"Well, in that case, we'd better make sure your apartment is clean and you'll be able to reciprocate when I get sick," Maura declared and got up to start her cleaning regimen, while Jane curled up on her couch and halted another sneeze in the crook of her arm.

Thirty minutes and one large trash bag filled with used tissues later, Maura returned to the couch and sank into the cushions next to Jane, who had heaved herself up again and was letting a freshly brewed cup of tea warm her body and soothe her sore throat.

"Feeling better?" the medical examiner asked caringly.

"Getting there," Jane nodded and sipped from her tea.

A satisfied smile playing on her lips, Maura reached for her own cup of tea from the couch table and leaned back close to the brunette.

Just when they had both gotten comfortable, their cell phones on the table rang out simultaneously.

The medical examiner reached for hers and checked its display, then frowned at Jane's phone and at the detective herself. "You're still on call?"

"Oops…," Jane grimaced sheepishly. "Guess I forgot to call in sick while I was busy puking my guts out…"

Trying to ignore Maura's admonishing glare, Jane reached for her device, and they both answered their phones. "Rizzoli…" — "Doctor Isles…"

A minute later, after they had both promised their respective dispatch caller to be at the crime scene as soon as possible, they hung up again.

"You don't really intend to drive to a crime scene right now, do you?" Maura wondered incredulously.

"Uh, no," Jane smirked. "I was hoping_ you'd_ drive…"

"_I_ will drive, but _you_ will stay here and get some rest," the doctor decided resolutely.

"But that pill you gave me is working, and I can't call in sick _now_," the detective argued.

"That is not my problem," Maura objected insistently and grabbed her phone as well as her bag with extra clothes.

"Yes, it is, Doctor Isles," Jane declared.

"And why is that?" the blonde wondered, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"Because you don't want your most important patient to drive by herself and get in an accident when she's sneezing all over the place and doesn't pay attention to oncoming traffic." Jane grinned, knowing quite well that she had maneuvered the doctor into a dead-end.

And Maura knew it, too. Any further resistance on her part would only prolong the inevitable. She rolled her eyes and pointed at Jane's raggedy look. "And you want to go like this?"

"No, give me ten minutes in the shower," the detective proposed and got up. After another sudden sneeze into her arm, she smiled sheepishly at the blonde. "Don't worry. Just do your time of death thing, let them bag the body, and we'll be back in an hour."

"You're impossible…," Maura sighed as she got up herself and stepped aside to let Jane stumble to the bathroom.

…

…

A little less than an hour later, Maura was wearing a more formal outfit and pulled her Prius into the parking lot of _Braff's Motel_ in Newton, close to the Massachusetts Turnpike just outside of Boston. She parked her car next to several police sedans and worriedly studied Jane on the passenger seat. Even though the brunette looked more civilized now — in her work clothes and with a subtle amount of make-up and hair spray —, she was still sneezing repeatedly and collecting used tissues in a plastic bag beneath her seat, which was equally discomforting to Maura as the sight of her sick friend.

"Could you at least try not to contaminate the crime scene when we go out there?" Maura asked as the detective blew her nose again and dropped another tissue between her legs.

"Want me to wear a hazmat suit?" Jane teased and stuffed a handful of Kleenex into her blazer's pocket.

The medical examiner pondered the suggestion for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I think that would work."

"Well, too bad, forgot mine at home," the brunette grinned as they both got out of the car.

While already putting on their nitrile gloves, the two women quickly scanned the property — a run-down two-story motel with approximately twenty rooms and an empty check-in booth on the ground floor guarded by two cops. Only half a dozen cars were scattered across the lot, and a gathering of officers and CSRU techs at the far end of the building clearly indicated the location of their crime scene.

Jane waited for Maura to get her M.E. bag and then sneezingly led the way towards the spot behind the motel that seemed to be the center of everybody's attention.

Flashing her badge, the detective introduced herself and the medical examiner, and the officers guarding the yellow tape around the scene let them pass without argument.

They were instantly greeted by Sergeant Vince Korsak, who was dressed in one of his outdated brown suits and a non-matching yellowish tie. After Detective Frost's death in the Brookline bombing less than five months ago, the gray-haired sergeant had resumed his partnership with Jane, at least temporarily. They were already familiar with each other's routines and there hadn't been any immediate need to formally assign a new partner to Jane — which wasn't unusual at all, since police departments often refrained from assigning fixed partners, regardless of what numerous cop shows on television tried to make viewers believe.

Thus, Korsak welcomed Jane with his signature nod and had every intention to let her study the crime scene without interruption to allow her to come up with her own unbiased analysis. But when the sergeant noticed Jane's red nose, he instinctively shrunk back.

"Eww, are you sick?" he asked rather redundantly.

"No, my nose is having a clearance sale," Jane retorted with a weak smile, then walked towards a broken row of shrubbery to take a look at the scene.

In the bushes lay a middle-aged man, who was dressed a little too lightly even for the rising spring temperatures. His ankles and wrists were bound with gray duct tape, and another patch of tape kept his mouth shut, whereas his eyes were wide open and lifelessly staring into infinity. There was neither a weapon in sight nor any sign of a fight, but a trail of foot prints and a set of tire tracks on the ground, which was still moist from the previous night's rain, provided irrefutable evidence that someone had been at this crime scene and then driven away.

"The man's name is Orlando Diaz," Korsak announced after having given Jane another minute to analyze the scene. "An ex-con who got out a few weeks ago after serving ten years for rape, assault, and other pleasantries. The motel manager found him after having received an anonymous call."

Maura squatted down and began to examine the dead man's body. "There are ligature marks on his neck," she declared, then shone a small flashlight into the man's eyes. "Petechiae in his eyes… It appears that he was asphyxiated."

"And then dumped here…?" Jane asked before discreetly blowing her nose.

Maura carefully rolled the body on its side and lifted the man's shirt to examine his back. "Lividity indicates that the body was moved… No blood pooling in his back." She reached for the thermometer in her bag, made a small incision just below Orlando Diaz' rib margin on the right side of his body, and inserted the thermometer deep enough to reach the man's liver.

Meanwhile, Jane turned to Korsak. "Any surveillance videos?"

"Nope," the sergeant shook his head but then reached into his pocket and revealed a plastic evidence bag with a note inside. He handed it to Jane. "But we found this in his pocket."

The brunette studied the computer-printed note in her hand.

_93% WOULD RATHER LET ONE CON MAN DIE THAN A DOZEN INNOCENT PEOPLE. HOW ABOUT YOU?  
__P.S.: YOU MIGHT WANT TO REMOVE THE BOMB BELOW THE CHECKOUT IN THE 24-HOUR MARKET ON ADAMS STREET._

"What the hell?" Jane gasped and handed the note to Maura.

"Bomb squad is already at that supermarket," Korsak said. "There really is a bomb below one of the checkout counters. I'm waiting for them to call me back with an update."

"You think this has something to do with the explosion in Charlestown last week?" the brunette wondered.

Korsak shrugged. "I don't know. The bomb in Charlestown went off in a deserted factory and didn't kill anybody. And there was no dead guy with a cryptic note in his pocket either."

"Well, even if the circumstances are different, we got two bombs within one week. Doesn't sound like a coincidence to me," Jane frowned.

"The guy still has his wallet and watch… It clearly wasn't a robbery," Korsak added. "And there was nothing else except for this note."

Maura handed him back said note before pulling out the thermometer from the dead man's liver. "Body temperature is 91.3 degrees. He died approximately four hours ago."

When Korsak's phone rang and thereby prevented any further discussion, the sergeant answered it, then silently mouthed _'bomb squad' _to Jane and stepped away from the noise caused by all the officers and CSRU techs at the scene. While waiting for him to return, Jane seized the chance to blow her nose again and crouched down next to the body to watch Maura finish her preliminary examination.

"There's a small puncture wound on his left arm," the medical examiner declared and scrutinized the man's bare skin, then worriedly looked at Jane. "I don't think we'll be back home in an hour…"

A few seconds and a tired sigh from the detective later, Korsak returned and let his phone slide into his jacket's pocket. "Bomb squad has safely retrieved a hand-made bomb with a cell phone trigger. They're bringing it in for further analysis…"

"Please, tell me that at least the supermarket has a surveillance camera," Jane groaned.

"They do, and we have already requested the videos and have officers talk to potential witnesses," the sergeant nodded. "But I got a bad feeling about this…"

"Yeah, me too," the detective murmured.

…

…


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Thanks for the fabulous follows/favs/reviews. And don't worry – the story will switch back to that basement from the first scene soon. Just not in this chapter._

_(And the Red Sox had better win their season opener. I don't want to have to rewrite anything!)_

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**Chapter 2**

_**March 31 (continued)**_

Two hours later, Jane wasn't back home on her couch to watch the Red Sox game as she had planned, but instead she was lounging in a chair in the morgue at BPD Headquarters, using up all Kleenex supplies within reach, and watching Maura perform the autopsy of Orlando Diaz.

"Already know what he's been injected with?" the brunette asked in between two tissues.

"No…," Maura answered petulantly. Without looking up, she continued to stitch up the Y-incision on Diaz' body. "And you've asked the same thing ten minutes ago."

"Sorry… my brain's lagging," Jane apologized sleepily.

"I know it's pointless to suggest," the doctor sighed, "but you should go home and get some sleep."

"Nah, at home, I'd be sick and miserable all by myself," the detective objected. "I'd rather share my sickness here with you."

Maura finally looked up and raised her eyebrow in suspicion. "Is this supposed to be a compliment or some sort of punishment?"

"Uh, a compliment…?" Jane suggested sheepishly.

Before the blonde could ponder the thought, Senior Criminalist Susie Chang entered the autopsy room and handed Maura a clipboard with test results. "The preliminary tox report you requested…"

"Thank you, Susie," the medical examiner nodded and studied the results — until Jane interrupted her with another loud sneeze that she barely managed to send into the opposite direction of the dead body on the autopsy table to avoid any contamination.

When the detective turned back around, she found both Maura and Susie staring at her in a mix of concern about her condition and anger about how she dared to spread her germs like that.

"Alright, fine," Jane groaned. "I'll go and feel miserable somewhere else so you kids can enjoy your sterile playground." She heaved herself up and grabbed her box of Kleenex.

"No, wait," Maura held her back. "Didn't you have a question?"

"What question?" the brunette asked in a daze.

The medical examiner rolled her eyes and held up the clipboard. "About the substance that was injected into his arm."

"Oh…," Jane's brain finally caught up. "Right… that question…" She sank back down into the chair.

With a polite smile, Maura signaled Susie that she was no longer needed and waited for her assistant to leave before focusing her attention back on the toxicology report.

"It was a mix of benzodiazepines — Bromazepam, Lorazepam, and possibly others —, but the concentration in his blood is already low," Maura explained with her eyes on the clipboard. "The last injection must have happened at least twelve hours ago."

"So, he didn't die from that?" the detective tried to follow along.

"No, cause of death is asphyxiation," the medical examiner declared.

"But he was knocked out with those drugs?" Jane wondered. "Like, when someone kidnapped him?"

"That's possible, yes," Maura confirmed.

"Hmm…," the brunette stared into the distance, though it was hard to discern whether it was because of her flu or because of her mind playing through all possible scenarios.

"What are you thinking?" the doctor asked.

"The note that Korsak found said that 93% would let the con man die," Jane recalled. "Sounds like some weird philosophical hypothesis or—"

"The _Trolley Problem_," Maura interjected. "It's a thought experiment that has been discussed since the mid-1900s. It presents you with an extremely difficult choice between life and death in an attempt to explore your moral compass."

"Like choosing between killing a con man or innocent people?" the detective mused.

"Well, in its most basic form, there is a runaway trolley on some railway tracks, and there are five people working on those tracks who are completely unaware of the danger they're in," Maura explained. "You are an observer standing somewhere in the distance next to a lever. You can pull this lever to send the trolley to a different set of tracks, but in doing so, you will kill one other worker on those other tracks. Or you can just let the scenario unfold and watch the five workers die."

"What if I just yell at them to get the hell off those tracks?" Jane proposed.

"You can't," the medical examiner denied. "Within the context of this thought experiment, you can only pull the lever or stand back and watch."

"Well, that sucks," the detective pouted.

"If it's any consolation, most people try to find a loop hole when being presented with this problem," Maura smiled in amusement. "It can be quite frustrating to find a satisfying answer to such a moral dilemma."

"Frustrating enough for someone to simulate this dilemma in real life?" Jane frowned.

Maura's face darkened at the implications. "You mean we could have ended up with a healthy con man and an explosion in that supermarket?"

"If someone from the other 7% had made the decision… then yes, Mr. Diaz here might have still been alive," the brunette nodded, reached for her Kleenex, and got up again. "I'm gonna talk to Korsak… see what he has about the bomb and from the surveillance videos."

"I'll finish here and come upstairs when I'm done," Maura agreed, concern about the detective's coughing and sneezing written all over her face.

Jane murmured a muffled _'okay'_ into a fresh tissue and trudged out of the morgue.

…

…

A few minutes later and all out of Kleenex, the detective reached the homicide squad room upstairs and headed straight for the BRIC, where she had spotted Korsak behind a computer.

"What do we have?" she greeted the sergeant, tossed the empty tissue box into a trash bin, and sank down in the chair next to her partner. Noticing his awkward glance at her red nose, she rolled her eyes and pointedly pushed her chair backwards until Korsak gave her a thankful grin.

"No fingerprints on the bomb or on the bag it was found in," the sergeant began his update and handed her a stack of pictures of the bomb. "It's very similar to the bomb found in that Charlestown factory. A very simple but deadly design with ball-bearings and the usual gimmicks. Could have killed a dozen people at the supermarket's checkout."

"And that cell phone trigger? Any traces?" Jane asked.

"Nope. Prepaid phone, never been used before," Korsak sighed, turned to his computer, and pointed at a freeze-framed surveillance video. "I'm going through the supermarket footage. Problem is that the newspaper stand below which the bomb was hidden creates a dead angle for the camera."

"So, we can't see who put it there?" the brunette worried.

"Probably not, no. But I'm also checking the footage from the entrance," the sergeant tried to sound optimistic. "Maybe we see someone come in with it."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Jane let her shoulders slouch. She turned on the monitor next to Korsak's, browsed to the directory with the video material, and began to fast-forward through the black-and-white recordings herself.

After a few minutes of silent investigation, Korsak worriedly peeked at the woman at his side. "I got a bad feeling, Jane. There's something big coming…"

The brunette paused her video, leaned back, and tiredly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Yeah…"

"But we can't issue a public warning based on speculation," the sergeant pointed out. "It would cause panic, and maybe they'd respond with another bomb."

"Right…," Jane agreed. "Do we already know anything about Mr. Diaz' last whereabouts?"

"I got someone on it," Korsak said. "But it's not like these ex-cons have a regular schedule or work life. He shared a house in Southie with three other guys, but they hadn't seen him in days."

Before Jane could ponder her next question, a uniformed officer peeked into the BRIC. "There's a young man waiting in Room 4. Says he knows something about your case with that ex-con, but he wants to make a deal or something."

Jane and Korsak frowned at each other and got up to follow the officer to the interview rooms.

Moments later, they entered an observation room and studied their visitor through the one-way mirror. The young man sitting at the table in Interrogation Room 4 was dressed in casual hipster clothes, with his hair unkempt and a dark bruise gracing his left temple. He was nervously chewing his fingernails and repeatedly rubbing his tired eyes.

"Name's Felix Johnson," the officer announced to Jane and Korsak. "A freelance copywriter from Cambridge. No previous arrests or convictions."

"And how does he know about our dead ex-con?" Korsak asked.

"He won't say," the officer explained. "Came in all by himself, said he wanted to talk to those handling this case, and that's it."

"Okay, let's talk to him," Jane decided and entered the interview room, the two men following on her heels. "Mr. Johnson?" she greeted the young man as she and Korsak sat down opposite him, while the officer silently leaned against the wall.

"Yeah," he confirmed with a shaky voice. "Are you handling that case with the dead ex-con?"

"How do you know about him?" Jane inquired calmly.

"No, no, that's… that's not how it's supposed to be," the young man shook his head. "Before you ask me anything, I… I want a deal. I want immunity."

"I'm afraid we're not allowed to do that, Mr. Johnson," Jane declined. "We cannot—"

"But they always do that on TV!" Johnson nervously cut her off.

"Do we look like some characters from a TV show?" Korsak snorted. "Listen, kid, whatever you got, just tell us and save yourself and all of us a lot of trouble."

Realizing the interviewee's indecision, Jane leaned forward and tried a softer approach. "Did you see someone dump the body of Orlando Diaz?"

"No, I…," Johnson hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I watched him die."

"What do you mean?" the brunette frowned in confusion.

"I was in… in a room… in a basement or something," the young man stuttered. "I woke up, and there he was, and—"

"Hold on," Jane interrupted him. "Tell us everything from the start. When and where did you wake up?"

Felix Johnson anxiously ran his fingers through his hair and squinted as if trying to concentrate. "I'm… fuck, my head hurts, I can't really remember. But I… I think I was on my way home yesterday, in the morning… after breakfast in a café… And I walked to my car, and… I think someone knocked me out."

"And then you woke up in that room?" Jane tried to keep him talking without drifting off.

"Yeah, and there was this guy bent over me while I was still feeling dizzy," he continued. "I couldn't see his face because he was wearing a mask and one of those suits, you know, like they're using in the lab on _Breaking Bad _or something."

"A hazmat suit?" Korsak asked, his posture as tense as Jane's.

"Right, whatever," Johnson began to loosen up as he finally got this burden off his chest. "So, that guy told me I would have to make a decision… Something about a criminal next door, and I would have to decide whether he or some innocents should die. And he… he showed me pictures, mugshots, of that criminal. And he said there was a bomb, and… and…" At the memory of his ordeal, Johnson's voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "He told me if I saved that man, the bomb would go off and kill a dozen people in a supermarket. And if I didn't believe him, I should remember that bomb in Charlestown from last week. He showed me an article in the Globe and said he had planted that bomb to demonstrate that this wasn't a joke…"

By now, Jane had momentarily forgotten about her flu, and her attention was fully focused on Felix Johnson. She gave him a moment to breathe before urging him to continue. "What happened next?"

"That guy in the suit said…," Johnson took another deep breath. "If I was ready to make my decision, I should just go next door and this would start the timer. And he promised he wouldn't do anything to me and I could just leave afterwards. It was… it was all about my decision. But if I refused to make one and just stay in the room, he would turn off the ventilation… And I would… I would suffocate."

Jane and Korsak exchanged worried glances as the young man across the table tried to remember what he would prefer to forget.

"So, after a while, I went through the door," Felix Johnson continued. "And there was a cell, and that con man was in there with a noose around his neck, and something was pulling in his back, and he… he couldn't breathe…" For a moment, Johnson gasped for air himself as he tried to remember the scene. "And I stood there and watched… And I thought about that bomb and… I mean, what if there really was a bomb? I… I… didn't know what to do and… I just… I just watched… and let him die."

He buried his face in his trembling hands and shook his head, prompting Jane to pat his arm. "It's okay…"

Wiping a sob from his face, Felix Johnson looked up with regretful eyes. "Was there really a bomb? Did you find one?"

The detective nodded. "Yes, yes we did." When relief flashed over the man's face, probably at the thought that one dead con man was more acceptable than a dozen dead innocents, Jane pushed for more information. "What happened after he died, Mr. Johnson?"

"I… I just stood there for a while…," Johnson said. "The guy in the suit didn't come back, so, at some point, I went through that other door down there… And it wasn't locked anymore, but… but something or someone must have hit me when I stepped outside… And next thing I know is I lie on a bench in a park near the river, and I have no idea how I got there…"

Jane gave the man a few more moments to calm down before getting back his attention. "Alright, here's what's gonna happen. An officer will formally take your statement and drive you to the hospital, where they'll run a few standard tests and check your head for a concussion. We'd also like you to be on standby in case we have further questions."

"But I… I won't go to jail, right?" Johnson asked insecurely.

"You're not under arrest," the detective reassured him and signaled the officer to lead the young man outside. "Everything else is not for us to decide, but you did the right thing by coming to us."

Once the officer and Felix Johnson had disappeared, Jane and Korsak exchanged another worried glance, then left the room and returned to the homicide squad's bullpen.

"I don't like this at all," the sergeant murmured.

"Me neither," Jane agreed huskily. "Maura mentioned something about a philosophical thought experiment in which you have to decide if you would kill one person in order to save several others. Sounds like some sicko is turning theory into practice…"

"So, we should expect more bodies and bombs?" Korsak asked worriedly.

"Maybe… I'm gonna check if—" the brunette started but ended with a brand new sneeze echoing through the hallway. "Damn it!" she cursed and massaged her throbbing temples before thankfully reaching for the handkerchief that Korsak subtly held in her face.

When they entered the homicide squad room, Maura was already waiting in Jane's chair and expectantly looking towards the door, obviously informed of the detective's pending arrival by her loud sneeze.

As the medical examiner got up and her expression gave away her intentions, Jane preemptively cut her off. "You don't need to say anything," she whined and blew her nose. "I surrender. Just take me home, please…?"

"Yes, please," Korsak begged playfully. "Get her outta here!" When Jane shot him an angry but teary-eyed glare, he smirked and pointed at his handkerchief in the brunette's hands. "You may keep this. And our case can wait till tomorrow."

Before the detective could retort anything, Maura already tugged her away towards the elevator and winked at the sergeant. "Good night, Sergeant Korsak."

…

…

In the early evening, when the Red Sox season opener had long been over, Jane and Maura finally arrived back at the detective's apartment, and it was just nine hours later than they had originally planned. Greeted by Jo Friday wagging her tail, the brunette headed straight for the couch and plopped down, sprawling her arms and legs into all directions.

Maura squeezed herself into the remaining space on the edge of the couch and looked at her friend in expectation. "Now what?"

"I'm sick…," Jane whined.

"I can see that…," the doctor stated factually, unimpressed by the detective's attempts to gain her sympathy.

"But I recorded the game… Wanna stay over and watch it?" Jane proposed feebly.

"Only if you take a hot bath first," Maura countered.

"Warm shower… And you won't have to wear that Red Sox jersey…," the brunette negotiated.

"Warm shower, no beer, and no post-game interviews," the blonde stated resolutely. "Final offer."

For a few seconds, Jane tried to hold Maura's gaze, but as usual, she had lost the contest long before it had even begun. Eventually, she gave in and trudged towards the bathroom. "You're not playing fair, Maura," she muttered, while the doctor barely managed to suppress a triumphant smile.

Fifteen minutes later, Maura had changed into her casual running clothes that had still been in her car, turned off the lights in the living room, and carried two mugs with hot tea to Jane's bedroom. She placed them on the nightstands just when the detective returned from her bathroom, wearing pajama bottoms and a new 2014 Red Sox T-shirt.

"And where's _my_ T-shirt?" the blonde asked expectantly.

"What? I thought you don't want it…?" Jane stated in surprise.

"I never said that," Maura pointed out. "And I suppose if we're going to watch their first game your way, we should do it in the proper outfit."

"Watching the game _my way_ includes beer though," the brunette grinned.

"Don't push it," the doctor warned.

"Fine…," Jane grunted and rummaged through one of her drawers to reveal another T-shirt and a brand-new MLB baseball, both items being held together by a carefully arranged gift ribbon. "Uh, I was bored," she commented on the ribbon and handed Maura her gift. "The ball's your own lucky charm… You can fidget with it, you know, when they screw up in late innings or try to re-invent the curse or something…"

"The curse…?" Maura asked curiously as she gladly unwrapped the shirt.

"Of the Bambino," Jane added. When the medical examiner responded with another blank stare, she rolled her eyes and groaned. "How can you live in Boston and not know that?!"

"Hmm, I guess the same way that you live so close to the ocean and still don't know how to properly eat fish," the blonde teased back before disappearing into the bathroom.

Moments later, the two women lay comfortably sprawled out on the bed in their new Red Sox shirts, with Jo Friday contently snoozing at their feet, and were finally ready to enjoy the first game of the 2014 season. Finally, Jane's original plan for this Monday was ready to be implemented — though with slight modifications. And on any other day, it probably would have turned into a long night of baseball and stories about curses and missed World Series. But today, after those unexpected long hours at work and weakened by her flu, the detective was completely exhausted and it took less than two innings until Jane was sound asleep.

When Maura noticed the knocked-out brunette next to her, the game became even less interesting than it had been before, and for a while, the blonde wondered if she should just turn it off and seize the quiet of the night to clean and properly disinfect Jane's apartment. But then again, she had promised she would watch the game with Jane, and a promise was a promise. Thus, she reached for her tea and patiently observed the sequence of hits and strikes that would eventually lead the Red Sox to their first victory of the season. Granted, her eyes rested more often on Jane's peacefully sleeping face than on the game on TV, but it was the thought that counted.

And as she sat there and tried to understand the concept of an intentional walk, her mind inevitably wandered off to explore the current conundrum that was the state of her relationship with Jane. She was very much aware that the dynamics of their friendship had changed over the years, but given the stresses and strains of their demanding jobs, it was only natural that their bond would strengthen. And yet, things felt different now. Jokes had turned more ambiguous. Movie nights and sleep-overs had become more frequent. And boundaries had been blurred so much that it was no longer possible to ignore the elephant in the room. And yet, that was exactly what they were doing. An unspoken agreement to just keep pretending, to keep ignoring those subtle tensions, to keep the coin spinning a little longer. Because they both knew it could go either way.

Unable to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, Maura finally sighed to herself, turned off the TV, and decided that now was a time as good as any to get rid of the influenza viruses still calling Jane's apartment home. She carefully pulled the duvet over the brunette and quietly slid off the bed in order not to wake the detective.

…

…

Several hours later, in the middle of the night, a tickle in her throat woke Jane from her otherwise surprisingly pleasant sleep. Drowsily, she let her eyes adjust to the glimmer from one of the bedside lamps before sitting up and looking around.

Maura was lying prone in the other half of the bed, sound asleep and still wearing her Red Sox jersey, and utterly unaware of the detective silently watching her for a few moments. Jane couldn't help but feel a certain warmth fill her heart at the sight. Things always felt right when Maura was around, and they had enjoyed so many sleep-overs lately that it had become almost natural to wake up next to each other. And yet, no matter how right the current direction of their relationship felt, Jane couldn't silence the voice in her head that kept urging her to turn around and run as far away as possible. Commitment would inevitably result in loss, and in broken picture frames on the floor, and in fading memories of joyful times long gone. She had been through this more often than she would care for, both at work and in her personal life, and sooner or later, things would always go wrong. There simply was no happy ending. At least not for her.

When Maura suddenly stirred and buried her face deeper in her pillow, Jane shook off her gloomy thoughts and let the peaceful sight of the blonde next to her calm her troubled mind. After another moment of silent admiration, she made sure that the doctor was fully covered by the duvet before carefully sneaking out of the room towards her kitchen.

And as she stood near the sink and drank a glass of water in the silvery moonlight shining in through the window, the brunette didn't fail to notice the cleanliness of the kitchen counter, the absence of the used tissues previously scattered all over the place, and the overall fresh citrus smell in her apartment. She raised her eyebrow in delight and tiptoed back to her bedroom.

Unfortunately, her attempt to be as quiet as possible was ruined by another sneeze creeping up her nose. She barely managed to halt it with her arm, but the sneezus interruptus was nevertheless enough to wake Maura from her light sleep.

"Gesundheit," the medical examiner murmured into her pillow without opening her eyes.

"Sorry, didn't wanna wake you," Jane whispered as she crawled back under the duvet. "Did you clean my apartment?"

"Yes," the blonde confirmed still half-asleep. "64% of all cases of influenza are caused by improperly disinfected facilities…"

Grinning at the fact that Maura's geeky brain was still alert even if the rest of her body was not, Jane pecked the blonde on her forehead and squeezed Maura's hand. "Thank you."

"Hmm…," Maura hummed contently.

And if exhaustion hadn't pulled Jane back to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, she maybe would have noticed the smile forming on Maura's lips as the blonde subconsciously squeezed Jane's hand back and let their fingers entwine.

…

…


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ A little weekend update for ya. Hope you can tell after this one how the structure of the story is going to work. :-)_

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**Chapter 3**

_**April 5, 2014**_

"I'm not gonna do this, Maura."

Jane stands outside of the doctor's cell, her eyes still locked with those of the woman on the other side of the bars. She's trying her best to ignore the wounds their malevolent adversary has inflicted on Maura, but the sight of the bruise on the blonde's throat and the cut above her eyebrow feed the rage already burning in Jane's veins. She wants revenge. She wants to make him suffer the way he let his other victims suffer. And then some.

Silence fills the room again as both women struggle for words. It is the doctor who finally speaks.

"So… you want to let all those people die…?" Maura's voice falters, losing the calmness it possessed just minutes ago.

"No, of course not," the detective objects weakly, clutching the bars until her knuckles turn white. "And that's why I need you to help me get us out of here."

The medical examiner looks around — at the naked walls, at the bleakness of the room, at the bars separating her from the other woman. From Jane. And she sees the pleading in the detective's dark eyes, the shimmer of hope that is always there no matter what. "He… he said everything was set up as before…," Maura explains eventually. Maybe Jane will think of something… something she herself has overlooked in those long hours she has been sitting in this cell. "And if you refused to make a decision, the ventilation would shut down. We'd both die and the bomb would go off anyway."

Jane glances at the monitor on one of the walls with its live feed from Fenway Park, where people have begun to arrive for tonight's game, and her heart breaks at the thought of a bomb in the ballpark that means everything and more to so many Bostonians. Swallowing hard, she turns back to Maura and her eyes fall on the blonde's hands again. "What's with the wires?"

"It's…," the doctor hesitates. "It's how it's going to happen… when you press the button…"

"It won't happen, Maura," Jane insistently shakes her head as her eyes follow the wires from Maura's wrists and from that spot close to her heart to a box on the wall behind.

The blonde tries to cling to the optimism still resonating in Jane's voice. At least she isn't alone any longer. "He said the bars would only unlock if the bomb went off or if you—"

"Can you move the chair?" Jane's mind is frantically searching for a way out of this. Giving up is not an option.

"No, I've already tried… It's fixed to the floor…," Maura sighs and shifts on her seat as much as her restraints allow.

"Wait, are those regular handcuffs?" The detective's face lightens up as she catches a glimpse of the metal tying Maura's hands to the chair.

"I think so…"

"Geez, why didn't you tell me?!" Jane searches through her pockets until she finds the small object that could change everything. "If it's a standard set, my key will fit."

Trying not to get her hopes up too high, Maura looks at the key in the detective's hand. "And how do you intend to get in here?"

"I don't have to," Jane says and squeezes her arm through the bars. "I'm gonna throw it to you, and you'll do the rest."

The doctor shakes her head. "Unless you change the laws of physics, there is no way you can throw it into my hands…"

"Maura, this isn't a good time for your fun facts," Jane grunts and focuses on her task, ignoring the fact that her envisioned trajectory would indeed defy the laws of physics. Denial trumps reality.

"Jane, wait!" Maura stops her. "This isn't going to work. Not if you throw it over my head like this…"

"What if I throw it at your feet?" the brunette suggests. "And then you somehow… I don't know… pick it up with your toes and bring it back up to your hands…?"

"I'm not a member of the Chinese Circus, Jane…"

"Then what are you doing all that yoga crap for?!"

They pause for a moment, their eyes on the key in Jane's hand.

"Okay, wait…," the detective finally has an idea. "Try to get up, and I'll throw it onto the seat, and then you'll slide it backwards into your hands."

Maura pulls at her restraints, ignores the sting in her left shoulder, and pushes herself up as much as she can, allowing her seat to serve as a landing spot for Jane's key.

"Ready?" Jane weighs the key in her hand, estimates the distance. It's easily ten feet, and the chair's seat isn't very large. But it could work. It just has to work. "Okay… One… Two… Three!"

The detective throws the key, throws it well, with the right direction and angle. But with the wrong speed.

The key touches the seat but slides too far, bounces off through the chair's open backrest, slips through Maura's fingers as she desperately yanks at her cuffs to catch it. It lands two feet behind the chair.

"DAMN IT!" Jane angrily kicks the metal bars but somehow manages to control herself when she sees the fear return to Maura's eyes. "Can you still reach it?"

The blonde tries her best, but no matter how much she twists and turns on her chair, the key remains out of reach. Exhausted, Maura sinks back onto her seat. "Now what?"

Jane rests her head against the bars, her eyes still on the key lying on the floor behind Maura. And she knows it's her fault now. She messed it up. When it mattered most, she threw like a girl.

And in the corner of the room, the timer is mercilessly ticking down.

14 minutes remaining.

…

…

_**April 1 — Four Days Earlier**_

Five minutes past 7 a.m. on this Tuesday morning — a regular workday without any annual baseball rituals —, Jane was sprawled out on her stomach in bed, her arms and legs laying claim to the duvet and every pillow within reach. When the early spring sun tickled her nose, her eyes fluttered open and her remaining senses soon followed suit. For a few moments, the brunette lingered over her usual wakeup routine as if time would simply stop as long as she didn't move. But when her vision finally unblurred and she caught the sight of her alarm from the corner of her eye, she knew she would have to trade her comfortable pillows for her hard desk at BPD very soon. At least her nose didn't appear to be stuffed any longer, and her fever had also subsided.

Still not fully alert, the detective let out a yawn but then paused halfway when she realized that something — or rather someone — was missing. She lifted herself up on her elbows and frowned until she spotted the little note sitting on the pillow next to her. She reached for it and was greeted by Maura's elegant handwriting.

_Good morning, Detective.  
__Have to feed Bass & took Jo Friday for her morning walk. We'll be back with bagels for breakfast. Hope you're feeling better.  
__Maura_

Even without the little smiley face next to the medical examiner's name, the heartfelt note would have brightened Jane's morning, and she carefully placed it on her nightstand before rolling out of bed and disappearing in the adjacent bathroom with a smile on her lips.

…

…

Twenty minutes later, the detective was dressed in her usual work slacks and a dark shirt, hair ruffled but ready for the day, and headed for her kitchen. Suppressing another yawn, she paused in the door frame when she spotted Maura behind the kitchen counter. The blonde was already wearing one of her impeccable dresses for work and fully consumed by her attempts to extract some juice from the oranges she had brought the day before. Unfortunately, Jane's kitchen offered nothing but a manual fruit squeezer, and hence, the process turned out to be more laborious than Maura had anticipated. Judging from the doctor's annoyed expression and the two only half-filled glasses next to her, she was sorely missing her top-notch automatic squeezer at home.

Jane cleared her throat and sleepily slid onto one of the stools at the counter. "Morning…"

"How's your flu?" the medical examiner inquired querulously while wrestling with another orange.

"Better, thanks…," the brunette declared, her voice still a tad hoarse, as she watched Maura battle those pesky fruit. "Apparently, I have a good doctor…" When her subtle attempt to show her appreciation went unnoticed by the other woman, Jane let her eyes wander over the fresh bagels and the steaming tea in front of her. "I could get used to this…"

"Well, don't," Maura sighed and poured her next yield of fresh juice into Jane's glass. She examined it with a critical eye and pouted at the unsatisfying amount of liquid in the glass. "You need a proper juice extractor."

"Uh, but I have a proper juice extractor," Jane objected with a smirk. "Her name's Maura."

Trying to hide her blush — in vain —, Maura sat down opposite Jane, and for a few stress-free minutes, they simply enjoyed their breakfast. The doctor gave the detective a quick update on Bass' morning mood as well as on Jo Friday's blatant refusal to follow orders, earning herself a throaty chuckle from Jane as she listened to Maura and simply reveled in the other woman's company at the beginning of a day that was looking to be anything but stress-free.

…

…

Several bagels, lots of bantering, and a 30-minute ride in Maura's car later, the two women arrived at BPD Headquarters, hoping that they'd be forgiven their slight tardiness after all the extra hours they had served the day before. And they probably could have snuck in unnoticed — if it hadn't been for Angela Rizzoli, who came flying out of the Division One Café as soon as she spotted her daughter strolling through the lobby.

"Jane, there you are! You're late!" the Rizzoli matriarch exclaimed as if she had been on the lookout all morning. "Hello, Maura," she added with a motherly smile when the medical examiner emerged behind Jane.

"Louder, Ma," the brunette moaned. "My boss can't hear you…"

"Oh, don't worry," Angela winked at her daughter. "Sean's not here yet."

"How do you know— no, never mind, I don't wanna know," Jane grimaced at the thought of her mother's ongoing romance with Lieutenant Cavanaugh.

"You still look sick, honey," the elder Rizzoli woman noted as she scrutinized her daughter from head to toe and reached for her forehead to feel her temperature.

"Could you _not_ 'honey' me at work?!" the younger one grunted and shrank back to escape from her mother's reach.

Realizing that Jane had no intention to discuss her physical condition, Angela turned to Maura. "Did she drink enough and have some real vitamins?"

"Uh, she…," Maura hesitated, torn between the inquisitive look from Angela and the admonishing frown from Jane. "I'm… I think this comes within the physician-patient privilege. Excuse me…" Before either of the Rizzoli women could pressure her further, Maura rushed into the café to flee from her awkward predicament.

Angela, however, remained rooted to the ground and kept staring at her daughter until Jane finally softened. "I'm alright, Ma."

"You sure?" the Rizzoli matriarch inquired, her motherly instincts kicking in again at the sound of Jane's husky voice.

"Yeah, come on, you know Maura," Jane pointed out as they strolled into the café. "She'd lock me up in my apartment if I weren't able to work."

"Being healthy and being able to work are two different things, Jane," Angela pouted. When she only received another eye-rolling from Jane in response, she finally let it go and changed the subject. "What about those bombs you keep finding? Should I be worried and avoid certain parts of the city?"

The detective shrugged helplessly. "We don't know yet. But, I guess, it can't hurt if you keep your eyes open…"

"Be careful, okay?" the elder Rizzoli woman asked caringly and handed her daughter a chocolate muffin from the counter.

"Thanks, Ma." The bribe instantly had its desired effect and a broad grin filled Jane's face. "Love you," she added sheepishly before nodding her mother goodbye and walking over to Maura, who was waiting at the door near the coffee stand.

With an amused smile, the medical examiner handed her one of the two cups she was holding and they hurried towards the elevators.

"Physician-patient privilege? Nice one, Maura…," Jane chuckled before taking a sip from her cup. Unfortunately, it didn't contain what she had expected "Hey, that's not coffee!"

"No, of course not," the doctor declared as if it was the most natural thing. "It's green tea. Its numerous benefits will aid during your period of convalescence."

"But… coffee…," the detective stuttered pleadingly. In vain. "Any way I can get out of this doctor-patient thing?"

"Not without my prior approval," Maura smirked.

Right when they were about to step into the elevator, Sergeant Korsak rushed into the lobby and made a beeline for the two women. "Jane! Doctor Isles! We got another one…"

Jane gave him a blank stare. "Another one?"

"Another body with a note about a bomb," Korsak explained. "Victim's been found at a motel near the airport… The bomb's somewhere in Little Italy. Let's go!"

Jane and Maura exchanged a worried glance and followed the sergeant without any further discussion.

…

…

Half an hour later, Maura parked her Prius next to Sergeant Korsak's BPD-issued sedan in the parking lot behind the _Fly Away Motel_ in close proximity to Logan International Airport, and she and Jane got out of the car. The medical examiner grabbed her bag from the backseat before following her two colleagues to the crime scene between two dumpsters at the far end of the property.

The motel itself had clearly seen better days, but given its convenient location, it appeared to be well-frequented, and various cars were parked in the lot. Half a dozen CSRU techs were scurrying back and forth and had already begun to document every tiny detail, while three uniformed officers were yellow-taping the area and making sure that none of the motel's guests or employees contaminated the scene.

When Jane, Korsak, and Maura flashed their badges, one of the three uniformed men, whose name tag identified him as Officer Radnor, waved them through and walked them to the dumpsters, where the lifeless body of a middle-aged man lay on the ground. His posture was similar to that of Orlando Diaz — his mouth, wrists, and ankles were duct-taped, there were purple ligature marks on his neck, and the terror in his face testified to the fear he must have felt right before his impending death.

"His name's Oliver Schultz… a sportswear retailer from Dorchester," Officer Radnor announced before handing Korsak a folded note. "We found this clasped in his hand."

While the officer returned to the yellow-tape barrier to let several CSRU techs enter the scene, Maura knelt down to examine the body. Trying not to let the intricacy and implications of this case affect her routine, she meticulously performed her usual steps, from taking the body's temperature to checking for exterior wounds and other clues regarding the cause of death.

Meanwhile, Korsak unfolded the note and read its content, with Jane anxiously peeking over his shoulder.

_76% WOULD RATHER LET ONE INNOCENT DIE THAN A DOZEN OF THEM. YOU?  
__P.S.: THERE'S ANOTHER GIFT FOR YOUR BOMB SQUAD AT LUIGI'S ON HANOVER STREET._

"Luigi's?" Jane frowned. "That's a restaurant, right?"

The sergeant nodded, and they exchanged a silent glance, both painfully reminded of the last bomb in a Boston restaurant, which had left Jane and Maura scarred forever and cost Detective Barry Frost his life just five months before.

"What is it?" Maura inquired worriedly as her two colleagues' continued silence caused her to pause her examination of Schultz' body.

When Korsak handed her the note, she instantly understood the grief flashing over their faces. While the sergeant's many years of experience with the worst of all crimes had made it somewhat easier for him to handle the loss of Detective Frost, it had taken Jane many weeks to regain her spirit and to get over the loss of her partner. Despite the medical examiner's best attempts to help the detective through her mourning, Jane's mental scars were still so fresh that the slightest reminder of the bombing would suffice to tear them wide open again.

"You okay?" Maura asked quietly as Jane squatted down next to her to take a closer look at Oliver Schultz' body.

"Yeah," the detective nodded, keeping her eyes on the dead man in front of her. "But I don't think _he_ is…"

The medical examiner bit her lip with concern and studied the other woman's face. She knew Jane's coping mechanisms all too well — her jokes and sarcastic comments, her refusal to talk about whatever was eating her up inside. And although Jane had let her guards down more than ever before after they both had almost died in that explosion, she still tended to push Maura away when circumstances got too intense, when vulnerability was not an option, when running away was the easiest choice.

As the detective refused to avert her eyes from the corpse in front of them, even though her tense posture gave away that she was very much aware of the doctor scrutinizing her, Maura finally focused her attention back on the dead man, silently hoping that Jane would maybe open up later when they were alone and not surrounded by numerous officers, techs, and flashing blue lights in the background.

"He has the same ligature marks like yesterday's victim," the medical examiner stated factually, then pointed at his left arm with its sleeve already rolled up. "And a similar puncture wound to his arm."

"Time of death?" Jane asked tersely.

"Two, possibly three hours ago," Maura responded almost as curtly. She knew that the brunette had gone into lockdown, that she had switched to some form of tunnel vision allowing her to concentrate on her case and disregard everything else. At least temporarily. But Maura also knew that sooner or later, the detective would need an outlet for her suppressed frustration. Her anger would find its way and break free and crush everything in its way. It had happened before, and it would happen again. And all Maura could do was hope that it wouldn't be as bad this time.

After having given Oliver Schultz' dead body one last thorough look, Jane got up and stretched her legs while letting her eyes wander over the immediate surroundings. There was no surveillance camera in sight, and if properly parked, a standard sedan could easily block the view and allow its driver to manhandle a lifeless body from the car's trunk and dump it without being seen.

"Looks like he wasn't killed here," she mused and bent down to examine fresh drag marks and tire tracks on the dusty ground near the scene.

"And no witnesses so far," Korsak sighed. "There's—"

"We got confirmation from the bomb squad," Officer Radnor interrupted him as he rejoined the gathering near the dumpsters. "They found a bomb and deactivated it successfully. Could've blown up the whole place."

"Thank you," Korsak nodded and waved the officer off before turning back to Jane and Maura. "We'd better find out what's going on here before something does blow up…"

…

…


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**__ Eh, I'm in a good mood, so here's another weekend update. The next one might take two or three days though because of some extra hours at work. Grrr.  
__Thanks for the follows/reviews. In case anybody else is wondering: yes, the Rizzles part will grow throughout the next chapters and it will be more than just a quick "I love you" at the very end. I just don't like it when things like that come out of nowhere, so I need to set it up properly. :-)  
__And even though Frost is not part of this story per se, he's certainly not forgotten…  
__Enjoy your Sunday!_

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**Chapter 4**

_**April 1 (continued)**_

In the early afternoon, Jane was once again standing between the autopsy tables in the morgue at BPD, half-heartedly picking at some Chinese food in a cardboard box and absentmindedly watching Maura, who had just started the autopsy of Oliver Schultz' body.

For minutes on end, the room was filled with deadly silence as the medical examiner went about her business and the detective kept chewing on her cold noodles and bamboo shoots while brooding over the latest developments in her case.

The longer the silence lingered in the air, the more often Maura's eyes landed on Jane. Even though the medical examiner welcomed the rare opportunity to complete her task without any interruption from the detective, she had to admit to herself that Jane's sometimes repetitive questions and often witty remarks during her autopsies did not only make her work more time-consuming but also more entertaining.

Not today though. Jane had rarely spoken ever since they had left the crime scene near the airport, and her mood had gotten even gloomier after their brief stop at Luigi's in Boston's Italian quarter to check out the restaurant where the killer's next bomb had been found at the bottom of a trash bin near the entrance. But Jane didn't need to say anything for Maura to know exactly what was going on in her mind. The parallels to that tragic explosion that killed Jane's partner about five months ago were too obvious — a bomb, an Italian restaurant, a large number of innocent lives at risk. Except that this time, the bomb hadn't gone off. But that was hardly relevant now. Detective Frost was still dead, and Jane's thoughts were once again trapped in an endless loop of guilt and what-ifs.

For a little while longer, the medical examiner continued her autopsy and tried to think of a discreet way to approach Jane about the sorrows holding her mind hostage. But even though Maura knew all the words in the dictionary, and most of them even in Latin, she still didn't quite know which words to choose to soothe her best friend's troubled soul in times like these. That didn't stop her from trying, of course, but once the detective had erected those invisible walls around herself, it was almost impossible for anybody else to tear them down. So far, it had only ever really happened once before, and even back then, on that snowy Friday night in February, it had taken days of subtle encouragement from Maura and several bottles of beer to make Jane finally open up on the medical examiner's couch. Maura had never seen her friend as lost and fragile as in that night, when all her worries and feelings of guilt about her partner's death had poured out of her, with slurred speech and angry tears and white knuckles from fists clenched too tight. And despite her best efforts to comfort her friend, Maura had known that Jane would keep blaming herself for weeks and months to come, maybe forever. And the blonde had sworn to herself that she would be there for her all along the way, no matter what.

That one night had also been the first of their now almost regular sleep-overs. After Jane's breakdown on the medical examiner's couch, and given her rather intoxicated state, Maura had refused to let her leave, and they had simply sat there huddled up to one another between the cushions until the detective had finally fallen asleep. And when Jane had woken up a few hours later, the doctor had gently led her to the bedroom, ignored the brunette's sleepy assurances that she was fine, and quietly laid down next to Jane and waited until she had fallen asleep again. The next morning, the detective had been her usual self, joking and teasing and making fun of the doctor's Google mouth as if nothing had happened, but when they had ended up at Jane's a few nights later, she had invited Maura to stay, without hesitation, arguing that the blonde had probably had too much wine and shouldn't drive back home alone. They had both known that Maura had only had one glass of Chardonnay, but it hadn't really mattered, and so she had stayed.

And as Maura now stood bent over Oliver Schultz' lifeless body and Jane still hadn't spoken a single word, the doctor knew she had to do something to prevent the detective from tumbling back down into that dark abyss.

"No questions at all today, Detective?" Maura asked playfully, keeping her eyes on the corpse in front of her.

"Hmm… it's too soon for lab results, and you haven't even finished your field trip through his intestines yet…," Jane murmured.

"Since when does that stop you from playing your little guessing games?" the blonde teased.

"I'm just tired, okay?" the brunette sighed warningly and shook the cardboard box of Chinese food as if hoping to find a rare hidden piece of stir-fry chicken at the bottom.

Still continuing her autopsy, Maura peeked at the other woman, hesitating. "You're thinking about those bombs…"

"Not really…," Jane lied and pointedly focused her attention on her food.

The medical examiner finally halted her autopsy and expectantly looked at the brunette. She knew all the tell-tale signs of the detective by heart. "Jane…?"

And Jane knew exactly that Maura wouldn't let those inquiring hazel eyes focus back on Schultz' body until she had given in and shared her sorrows. And maybe, if they had been alone on the medical examiner's couch at home, a bit drunk and much more at ease, she might have opened up again, just like that one time a few weeks ago. She didn't remember much of that night except that she had exceeded her beer limit and that, at some point, all her dams had broken. And that Maura's soothing embrace had then stopped the tide. But now they were at work. Sober and surrounded by people. There was no way she would let herself go like that again. Jane finally looked up from her food and stubbornly held Maura's gaze. "Could you just finish your autopsy?"

Unwilling to give in just yet, Maura dismissed the brunette's not-so-subtle hint. "I know you're thinking of Detective Frost again and—"

"Even if I was…," Jane quickly cut her off. "… this isn't a good time to talk about it."

"There is never a good time to talk about it," the blonde pointed out.

"Fine, then let's _never_ talk about it," the detective grunted.

"You can't just make unpleasant things go away by pretending they weren't there," Maura said with a warm, encouraging smile.

But it wasn't returned. "The only unpleasant thing right now is you and your nagging," Jane complained, her voice much harsher than she had intended.

Her smile instantly fading away, Maura pursed her lips and walked over to her laptop on a table nearby, turning her back to the other woman and trying to persuade herself that the detective's outburst was only the result of her influenza-stricken hormone balance. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

For a moment, Jane just stared at Maura from behind. The blonde's sagging shoulders, in contrast to her usual upright posture, easily betrayed the pain she was trying to hide. The pain that Jane had caused. And the brunette yearned to just close the distance to the doctor, to apologize, and to make it all better with a warm embrace or at least a fleeting touch of their hands. But at the same time, that voice in the back of her head yelled out again, telling her that she hadn't done anything wrong and that it was only fair to set some boundaries.

Before she could decide what to do, Sergeant Korsak barged in, waving with a folder in his hand. "Results from CSRU are in. They—"

When he noticed Jane's icy glare and Maura's unwillingness to even look up from her computer, the sergeant stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that scenario all too well. "Is this a bad time?"

"Well, it's certainly _not a good time_," Maura murmured, then challengingly looked at Jane, all playfulness gone from her voice. "Isn't that right, Detective?"

The brunette rolled her eyes and turned to Korsak instead. "What did CSRU say?"

"The bombs are identical," the sergeant read from his folder. He already knew all information in there by heart, but it was a convenient way to escape Jane's piercing eyes. "No fingerprints or anything. And nothing useful at the crime scene either." Still unable to come up with a quick excuse to leave the morgue, he looked at the medical examiner. "Find anything on the body?"

"Cause of death is asphyxiation," Maura declared and walked over to Oliver Schultz' body on the autopsy table, without paying any attention to Jane. "Lividity indicates he died in a seated position…"

Korsak nodded and stepped closer. "Was he drugged as well?"

"Lab results aren't in yet, but he does have a very similar puncture wound," the doctor confirmed and pointed at the dead man's left arm.

"What about those thought experiments that you mentioned to Jane?" the sergeant inquired further. "What should we expect next?"

"I could only speculate," Maura admitted and didn't fail to notice how Jane subtly shook her head at the blonde's usual unwillingness to jump to conclusions. "Your cases don't exactly match the kind of scenarios discussed in philosophy."

"But there are similarities?" Korsak was determined to get an answer this time.

"Well, the intention behind these thought experiments is to challenge your preconception of what is right and wrong," Maura explained. "Therefore, several variations of the most basic scenario make the choice more and more difficult. And in your case, the first choice was between a criminal and dozens of innocents, whereas the second choice was between one innocent and several of them. I would expect the two options to become even more similar next time."

"You're saying next time someone might have to decide between just two innocent people?" Korsak surmised.

"Maybe…," the medical examiner nodded.

Before they could explore the matter further, the sergeant's phone rang, and when he answered it, Maura seized her chance to excuse herself and retreat to her office.

Instinctively, Jane turned to follow after the blonde but then stopped, unsure whether the doctor intended to be alone or actually wanted to give her an opportunity to apologize. But ultimately, it didn't matter as Korsak ended his call, headed for the door, and signaled her to follow him. "We got some videos. If we're lucky, we'll catch our philosopher in the act. Come on!"

Visibly torn, Jane cast another glance towards Maura's office but then threw her food box into a nearby trash bin and followed Korsak back upstairs.

…

…

Ten minutes later, the sergeant and the detective had taken their seats behind two computers in the BRIC and were browsing through a directory with new videos from traffic surveillance cameras and webcams in the proximity of their different crime scenes.

"The bomb at Luigi's was found in a trash bin," Korsak recalled. "But they take out their trash every night, so it must have been planted this morning. We have webcam videos from a store across the street, and we have those surveillance videos from the supermarket. I know it's a long shot, but maybe we'll find someone at both crime scenes who could've planted these bombs."

"Any news from the airport motel?" Jane asked huskily. "We need to find out who took Felix Johnson's place this time… Who killed our second victim?"

"I don't know," Korsak sighed. "We've got some officers ask around near that park bench where Johnson woke up… Maybe someone saw something…"

As they fast-forwarded through hours and hours of video material, the menial task inevitably caused Jane's mind to keep itself busy by exploring potential motives and goals of the philosophy afficionado pulling the strings behind this case. And even though her flu-stricken brain wasn't working at its best, her Detective Rizzoli instincts eventually kicked in and singled out a few details that seemed most promising to get them a new lead.

As soon as they had finished reviewing another of the surveillance videos and Korsak leaned back with a yawn, Jane seized the moment to open a web browser and search for course catalogs of Boston's finest colleges and universities.

"What are you looking for?" the sergeant leaned over in curiosity.

"Not sure…," the brunette admitted. "But if we consider how everything is set up — it's so elaborate… And then there are those statistics in the notes… We're not dealing with some average Joe here but with someone who knows what they're talking about."

"You think it might be a student?" Korsak followed her thoughts.

"Maybe…," Jane shrugged. "A sick frat initiation ritual… Or some twisted philosophy majors…" She frowned at a web page from Harvard's Department of Government. "Looks like we got a real expert on these thought experiments sitting right across town," she swiveled her screen to allow Korsak a look at the page of Professor Marvin Howell, world-renowned luminary in the fields of justice, morals, and bioethics at Harvard University. "And Felix Johnson lives in Cambridge, too. So, maybe some of Howell's students took their homework a bit too serious? I mean, it's just a hunch but—"

"Your hunches are often better than other people's conclusions," Korsak cut her off with a smile. "Talk to that professor… Can't hurt…"

"Okay," the brunette nodded and bookmarked the page before they both resumed their search for the needle in the haystack of surveillance videos.

…

…

When several hours of video footage hadn't brought them any closer to catching their killer, Jane and Korsak simultaneously leaned back and stared at their computers in frustration as if they could force their screens to reveal something they had overlooked before. They had compared license plates of cars as well as clothes of people entering or leaving the Newton supermarket and Luigi's restaurant, but there simply hadn't been any suspicious similarities.

"There's nothing else we can do right now," Korsak finally declared and closed his folder with old-school handwritten notes. "I'll have to check on Watson, and you're still sick. Get some rest, Jane."

"Watson?" the brunette smirked, assuming that the sergeant had most likely welcomed yet another stray pet into his home. And she was right.

"A little pug," Korsak admitted cheerfully. "Knows all kinds of tricks already but won't accept that my shoes are off-limits." He grabbed his jacket and waved goodbye. "See you tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll talk to that professor in the morning," Jane nodded, turned off her computer, and tiredly rubbed her eyes. Though their afternoon investigation had been somewhat of a distraction, her thoughts had continuously returned to her memories of Detective Frost and to the abrupt ending of her last conversation with Maura in the morgue. She hadn't intended to be as harsh towards the medical examiner, and remorse had gripped her heart as soon as her words had left her mouth. But then again, why did everything always have to be discussed and psychoanalyzed? Why couldn't some things just be buried and forgotten? It simply wasn't fair.

For a split second, Jane wondered if she should just wait for Maura to make the first step this time, but she instantly discarded the thought. The blonde had been there for her from the very minute when that explosion had turned their world upside down five months ago. They both had almost died in the bombing, and Barry Frost had been Maura's colleague and friend as well. And at least subconsciously, Jane knew that Maura was right. She did need to talk about it, at least once in a while. And she was glad that the medical examiner would always be there to listen.

Determined to make up for her outburst earlier that day, Jane grabbed her belongings and marched to the elevators down to the morgue.

Moments later, she reached the medical examiner's office and peeked inside. When she found Maura on her sofa, her attention consumed by an autopsy report she was studying, Jane hesitatingly sat down next to her.

"Hey…," the brunette tested the waters.

"I'll be ready in a minute," Maura said without looking up. "I can give you a ride home." It was supposed to sound casual, but it couldn't fool the detective.

"About earlier…," Jane started.

"Don't worry, I'm not mad at you," the doctor declared but kept staring at her report until Jane took it from her and put it aside, forcing the blonde to look at her.

"But you have all right to be. I shouldn't have taken it out on you…," When the hurt in Maura's hazel eyes made it so much harder to say everything she had intended to say, Jane switched to a more lighthearted tone. "But… you know, there were only you and the dead guy, and I figured dead guy's day had already been bad enough…"

"You always do that…," the blonde sighed and leaned back.

"Do what?" the detective wondered insecurely.

"Hide behind your jokes…," Maura pointed out quietly.

Jane frowned. "I don't—"

"You do, Jane," the doctor cut her off. "Especially when things get too personal. But I should know by now that you don't like to talk about certain things, and I shouldn't have bugged you about Detective Frost. I'm sorry."

The brunette raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Okay, why is it that _I_ come here to apologize but _you're_ the one who says sorry?"

Maura tried to muster a smile. "I know we've spent a lot of time together since Detective Frost's death, and I know it scares you, even though you're trying to hide it."

"It doesn't scare me," Jane objected but shrank back when Maura knowingly tilted her head. "Well, maybe a little…"

"We don't have to hang out so often," the doctor proposed and pointed at a stack of magazines on her desk. "In fact, there are several journals that I'd like to catch up on."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jane pouted playfully. "I didn't know I was keeping you from your _Doctor Death Weekly_."

"Well, there are some truly innovative developments in the field of 3D imaging," the medical examiner beamed enthusiastically. "These procedures are far less invasive than standard autopsies and allow fractures or foreign objects to be spotted more easily."

"Fine, have fun with your little 3D-invasion-whatever," Jane murmured sulkily and got up. "I'm just gonna walk home. I'm sure that's super-healthy with my flu and all."

"Actually, it is," Maura confirmed. "Increased exposure to daylight will boost your serotonin levels, and physical activity will—"

"Mauraaa!" the detective whined.

"Yes?" the woman of said name paused. And unlike so many times before, Maura had long understood Jane's subtle message. But that didn't mean she had any intention to make it easier for the brunette. "Oh? I'm still expected to give you a ride home, but I'm just not allowed to hang out with you afterwards?"

When Jane just rolled her eyes and demonstratively banged her forehead against the door frame, the medical examiner pointedly took her sweet time to get her purse and keys. "Would you like to sit in the back of the car so you won't have to talk to me?"

"Yes, good idea!" the brunette exclaimed when she finally realized that Maura had been teasing her all the while. "And it would be awesome if you could get one of those dimmed partition glasses, like in a luxury sedan."

"You want me to wear a chauffeur's hat, too?" the doctor asked as she locked up her office, trying not to break into laughter.

"Uh huh," the detective nodded. "And make sure the mini-bar is always stocked."

As they waited for the elevator, both still smiling, Jane nudged Maura and turned more serious. "Just to be clear, I _am _sorry about earlier."

"I know you are," the blonde assured her.

"And… even though you're not my chauffeur…," Jane added quietly, "I was hoping we could make another stop on our way home…"

"Where?" Maura asked as they stepped into the elevator.

…

…

Half an hour later, Maura parked her Prius next to a small, quiet cemetery in the south of Boston and insecurely glanced at Jane on the passenger seat. "You sure you want me to come?"

The brunette nodded for an answer and grabbed a bouquet of lilies from the backseat before they both got out of the car.

And as the sun set on this first day of April, the two women silently strolled down the meandering pathways and passed graves old and new until they reached that of Detective Barry Frost.

For a few moments, they both simply stood in the dusk, gently leaning against one another, their thoughts with their deceased friend and everything they had been through. Eventually, Jane knelt down and carefully placed the flowers next to the tombstone. "Sorry, it's been a while…," she murmured to the grave. "Had a few murders to solve, you know…"

The next minutes, the brunette somberly spoke to the grave and told of the cases they had handled over the past weeks, of the two new detectives who had recently joined the homicide squad, of all the other more or less important things happening at BPD.

And all the while, Maura stood at her side and listened in silence. Even though her heart felt equally heavy at the thought of Detective Frost's untimely passing, her mind was more overwhelmed by the fact that Jane had invited her to this very personal moment, especially after the brunette's admission that she was indeed scared by the direction their relationship was taking. Was it her way to let Maura know that she was willing to face her fear? Or was it just a gesture to make up for her outburst in the morgue? The detective was usually easy to read for the doctor, but when it came to their friendship, or to their relationship, or to whatever it was that defined them, Maura felt increasingly illiterate.

Maybe it was time they finally talked about it. Maybe she would just have to approach Jane within the next days. Carefully, without cornering the detective. Giving her the back door she needed. Just in case. And then hope that Jane wouldn't kick it open and storm away.

And as Maura pondered her strategy, Jane slowly ran out of BPD news to tell to Frost's grave. Eventually, the detective paused and lowered her head until one final thought struck her mind. "Oh, and you'll be pleased to hear that Frankie is taking good care of your action figure," she added and a faint smile flashed over her face. "But I still think it's just a doll…" With that, she got up and cast one last glance at Frost's grave. "I miss you… We all do."

Her eyes beginning to fill with tears, Jane quickly turned around and swallowed her pain. "Let's go," she whispered to Maura and walked away without looking back.

The medical examiner let her eyes linger on Detective Frost's grave for another moment, then followed the brunette.

As they made their way back to the parking lot, Jane glanced at the blonde from the side. "Thanks for coming…"

Maura gave her a warm smile in response, and on any other day, there wouldn't have been the need to say anything else. But when her Prius came in sight, she realized that Jane had never really responded to her earlier suggestion to spend some time apart. And after all the ups and downs of the day, Maura wasn't sure any longer where they were headed. "How about pizza?"

"Hmm," Jane nodded. "Your place?"

"If you want to…," Maura suggested hopefully.

"Yeah."

…

…


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** Given that they start filming again today, I figured a little update can't hurt, right?  
__Since someone mentioned genres in the reviews: I hope I didn't mislead anybody. I could only pick two, so I chose the genres most dominant in this story as a whole. And in case this hasn't been clear right from the start, there'll also be some angst coming up. But I promise there won't be any mean tricks or cop-outs. I don't want anybody to hate me at the end of the story (eh, except Casey Jones maybe… he might get a little pissed)… I just like to throw as many obstacles at the characters as possible. After all, you need to overcome the biggest obstacles if you want the biggest rewards (yuck, sounds like a cheap self-help book)._

* * *

…

**Chapter 5**

_**April 5, 2014**_

"Can we at least talk about it?" Maura tries to steady her voice. She has spent the last few hours thinking it through, considering all options, weighing all consequences. She has made her decision. But she knows she can't do it alone.

"There's no need to talk about it," Jane shakes her head, still leaning against the bars, her eyes fixed on the floor behind the doctor's chair. Where the key lies. The key that could have changed the scenario. The key that she didn't throw well enough.

But the blonde has been through this too often before. Too many times when they should have talked but never did. And she can't do it anymore. Not this time. "So, business as usual? We're just going to ignore it and—"

"I'm trying to think, Maura!" The brunette's voice is harsh, betraying the anger that's burning inside.

"I'm not going to do this anymore, Jane. I'm not going to pretend everything was fine and wait for some magical deus ex machina that will never come." Maura's voice is cracking, and on any other occasion, she probably would have given in, would have let her amygdala and her lacrimal glands take over. But the finality of her situation strengthens her resolve. There are so many things she wants to say, so many things she won't be able to say. And silence is simply not an option. "We have to talk."

"No, we don't!" Jane turns away in frustration, runs her hands through her hair, looks around. "There's gotta be another way."

"Jane, please—"

The detective storms back into the other adjacent room, the one where she woke up. But there is nothing that could help them escape. Just empty, cold walls. She punches her fist against one of the walls, both to blow off steam and to check its resistance. But the concrete does not give in, does not reveal any secret passageway. She punches the wall again, and again, and again. Now, it's pure frustration. And it results in nothing but grazed knuckles.

Ignoring the pain, the brunette bolts out of the room, slams its door shut with a bang. She needs the noise, she needs to repel the silence that her predicament will inevitably bring. Without looking at Maura in her cell, Jane rushes to the other door at the end of the short hallway. The door that supposedly leads outside. But it's closed and locked and made of massive metal. She launches herself against the door, throws her full weight against it, tries to smash it open with her shoulder. In vain.

Out of breath, she steadies herself against the wall. Her hands are trembling from the physical strain, from the residual sedatives in her veins, from the thought of what lies ahead.

"Jane? Can you please come back here?" Maura's voice resonates with determination. She still wants to talk.

And in a way, it feeds Jane's resistance, nurtures her stubbornness. She has no intention to talk. She's not ready for this. There has to be another way. Suppressing her fears and letting a fresh wave of adrenaline guide her actions, Jane marches back to the cell and examines its metal bars. She doesn't dare look at Maura, but she feels the blonde's eyes resting on her.

For a moment, Maura keeps watching the detective, sees her bruised knuckles, notices the desperation slowly stifling the optimism in the brunette's eyes. And she knows what her words will do to her. "I'm not going to let all those people die, Jane. I… I want to save them."

Instead of a response, the detective forcefully kicks the metal bars, trying to loosen their mounting.

"Could you stop this, please? At least for a minute?" It's not the first time that Maura tries to get through to Jane during one of her outbursts of anger. And it's not the first time that she doesn't succeed.

Noticing the merest hint of the bars loosening, Jane keeps on kicking against the metal, rattles at the grid, slams herself into the bars in an attempt to rip them out of their sockets. "Damn it! Fucking sonofa—" She gasps, trembling but unwilling to give up.

And with every kick, Maura's heart breaks a little more inside. "Jane, stop it! You're hurting yourself!"

And finally, Jane stops. But her anger doesn't subside, and she glares at the doctor. "Oh really?! _I'm _the one hurting myself? What about _you_?! Sitting there and talking bullshit about wanting to die? _You're_ the one hurting me!"

It's getting harder and harder for the blonde to hold back her tears. "You really want to yell at me right now?"

"No, for Christ's sake!" the brunette yells. "I'd be happy to yell at you tomorrow, and the day after and every damn day for the rest of my life — but oh, too bad, looks like you've already made other plans!"

For a few seconds, furious coffee-brown eyes meet teary hazel ones as Jane's words float between the two women.

The detective swallows hard, trying to understand the doctor's stance. "I mean, how can you just sit there and not be mad and… and not fight it?"

Struggling for words, Maura averts her eyes. She has been fighting. She has been fighting her fears and her feelings. She has been fighting for Jane. For weeks and months. Probably even for years. But at some point, even the strongest fighter will run out of strength. And maybe that point has come for her. She glances at the timer. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to change her mind, to find another way out of this, to fight on. But she needs a reason.

"Please, fight it, Maura." Jane's voice is quieter now, almost whispering. Begging. "If you don't want to fight for yourself, then please, do it for me… Fight it for me… for us."

…

…

_**April 2 — Three Days Earlier**_

Shortly past 8 a.m. on this Wednesday, Jane got out of her sedan on Cambridge Street near Harvard's Department of Government and let her eyes wander over the eclectic mix of buildings old and new. Students had already begun to pour in from all directions, and despite Harvard being one of America's finest universities, those kids in their college hoodies and baggy slacks didn't look much different from Jane's classmates during her semesters at a community college. And as she leaned against her car, sipping hot liquid from a Thermos mug, the brunette wondered once again what could have been. What if she hadn't waived her chance to attend BCU? What if she had applied for a scholarship? Worked a little harder? Found a way to pay her tuition despite her father's low income from his plumbing business? Where would she be today? With a decent college degree, she would have had so many more options. She could have joined the FBI… or gone into politics to show those tax-funded bums how to get things done. But then again, despite all the tragedies she encountered on a daily basis as a homicide detective, she loved her job at BPD. She loved the thrill and the chases and the liberties Cavanaugh granted her for being one of the best. And she loved her colleagues. And Maura.

For some reason, her thoughts always ended up circling around the blonde these days. They had been close friends for many years, but after Frost's death, there hadn't been a single day on which they hadn't spoken, even if it had only been on the phone or for five minutes between an autopsy and an interrogation. As if their days simply weren't complete until they had heard each other's voice… But no matter how much she enjoyed Maura's presence, no matter how much she had come to rely on the doctor in her darkest moments, their closeness nevertheless scared the hell out of her, much more than Maura had rightfully assumed the other day. Every one of Jane's instincts urged her to run, to get out while she still could, to escape from the inevitable hurt. No commitment. No risk. No loss. It was as simple as that. Both of their jobs came with inherent dangers — the detective was an easy target for those she tried to put behind bars, and the medical examiner had helped lock away so many bad guys that the chances of one of them taking revenge some day were much higher than Jane would care for. And then there was Maura's relationship to Paddy Doyle and his mob… The harsh truth was that on any given day they could potentially be torn apart. And Jane knew it would hurt… Much more than all the physical wounds over the course of her career combined. And thus, it made sense to not let Maura get too close. It made sense to keep her shields up and to reclaim her independence. Just like it had made sense to sneak out of Maura's house early this morning, leaving behind nothing but a short note and a fleeting kiss on the sleeping blonde's head after a night of pizza and movies. It was just the way their relationship was destined to be.

"Did you know that Sanders Theater was inspired by Christopher Wren's Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford?" Maura suddenly ripped Jane from her thoughts as she approached from behind and joined the detective in her amazement at the famous building in front of them. "Its design and acoustics make it an excellent venue for choirs and orchestral performances."

"Yeah, you should hold your next _Bullets and Blasts Symposium_ in there…," Jane suggested half-jokingly, trying to suppress her previous thoughts.

"And let people like Pike or Popov take the same podium that has already seen speeches by venerable figures like Churchill, Roosevelt, and Martin Luther King?" Maura shuddered.

"I see your point…," Jane smirked, relieved that the blonde apparently didn't have any intention to bring up her sudden disappearance this morning. Before she could ridicule Maura's incompetent colleagues any further, her still lingering flu caused another tickle in her throat, and she quickly sipped from her mug to prevent a serious bout of coughing.

"You know, it would really aid your recuperation if you listened to me and had green tea instead of your coffee," Maura declared and critically eyed the brunette's mug.

Ignoring the doctor's nagging, Jane instead unscrewed the lid and triumphantly held her mug under Maura's nose. When the scent of fresh green tea made the blonde realize that the brunette had indeed heeded her advice, she sheepishly shrank back. "Oh…"

"You were saying…?" the detective teased.

"Nothing…," Maura piped and pretended to look around. "So, where exactly do we meet with that professor?"

Jane chuckled and strode towards a modern office complex next to Sanders Theater. "Right in there…"

…

…

Ten minutes later, the two women stood in front of the office of Professor Marvin Howell, and Jane insistently knocked on his door.

"Come in!" a friendly male voice encouraged them from inside.

When they entered, they found themselves in a spacious, sleek office with boards full of books, stacks of papers on a table in a corner, and a tidy desk in the center of the room. The friendly male voice belonged to a middle-aged man of ordinary appearance, dressed in fine threads and a bow-tie, with a smart twinkle in his eyes. "You must be…"

"Detective Rizzoli. We spoke on the phone," Jane shook his hand, then pointed at Maura. "This is my colleague, Dr. Isles."

The professor greeted the blonde as well, noticing with the curiosity of an inquisitive mind how the doctor blushed at Jane's introduction and how the detective sent a proud glance to the woman at her side when doing the introducing. "Please, have a seat," he gestured at two chairs and sat down in his own leather chair on the opposite side of his desk. "How may I help you?"

"Well, like I said on the phone, we're working on a case that draws certain elements from the subject matter you're teaching," Jane explained. "And since one of our victims is from Cambridge, we're considering the possibility that we may be dealing with someone who's familiar with your classes. Students… alumni… colleagues…"

Howell's face darkened at the thought. "May I ask what kind of case we're talking about?"

Jane tensely wiggled on her chair. "Someone seems to be conducting experiments along the lines of your famous _Trolley Problem_…"

The professor frowned. "You mean…?"

"Someone's forcing people to decide who gets to live and who dies," the brunette confirmed his suspicion.

"Oh gosh, that's… terrible," Howell was at a loss of words. "And you think this _someone_ is doing it because of what I'm teaching?"

"We're not implying this was any of your fault, Professor," Maura quickly interjected.

"Right," Jane nodded and thankfully peeked at the blonde, again piquing the professor's interest into the two women's habitual interaction. "We're just following a hunch and—"

"Testing a hypothesis, so to speak," the medical examiner added politely, earning herself a subtle grin from the detective and an amused smile from the professor.

"Have you noticed any suspicious behavior amongst your students?" Jane continued. "Maybe someone's a little too eager to learn more about these thought experiments? Or maybe someone failed your class and now wants to prove a point?"

Howell paused and rested his chin on his hand. "Hm, no, I'm afraid I can't think of anybody," he said, shaking his head. "There are hundreds of students in my introductory class, and all of my lectures can be watched online. Anybody in Boston or, in fact, around the world can watch them for free."

Jane's hopes for a lucky break in this case slowly faded away. "Could you get us a copy of your course materials or send us a link to these videos? And a list with all students who completed your class over the last, say, five years?"

"Yes, certainly," the professor nodded. "And what kind of scenarios are you dealing with in this case, if you don't mind me asking?"

"So far, one person was forced to choose between letting one felon or a group of innocents die," Jane explained. "And another one had to choose between one innocent or a whole group of them."

"Hm, fascinating," Howell murmured pensively.

"Why?" the detective asked, hoping for helpful insight from the man opposite her. "Any idea what we should expect next?"

"What? No, I'm… it's…," the professor shook off his thoughts. "I'm sorry, this wasn't quite appropriate. It's just that I've been in this field for so long, and all we can do is theorize about what we'd do in these moral dilemmas. But to be honest, even after so many years, I'm not sure what I'd do, what kind of decision I'd make if I had to…"

"I don't think anybody would ever want to have to make such a decision…," Jane agreed and Maura silently nodded.

Before they could discuss it further, the detective's phone buzzed and she checked its display. "Excuse me," she sighed before answering the call. "Rizzoli…"

For half a minute, Jane listened to the person at the other end of the line, then ended the call with a distinctive frown on her forehead. "I'm sorry, this was actually related to this case… We'll have to go." Noticing Maura's concerned look, she signaled her to get up. "Our killer has struck again."

The professor's face filled with equal concern at the unpleasant news being shared in his presence. "I'll have my assistant send you a copy of my lecture slides and the list of all students. Just let me know if you need anything else."

"I will, thank you," the detective handed him her business card. "And please, give me a call if you notice anything suspicious, even if it's just a student missing class for no reason."

After a polite shake of hands, Howell nodded them goodbye and watched how Jane held the door open for Maura and instinctively rested her hand on the small of the blonde's back as she followed her outside. When the detective and the doctor had disappeared, the professor leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrow in curiosity. It clearly didn't take a genius like him to notice the chemistry between the two women.

…

…

Half an hour later, in a run-down Roxbury neighborhood, Jane parked her sedan near a side street that had already been sealed off by two uniformed officers and their patrol cars. She took one last sip from her mug, grimaced at the realization that her tea had long gone cold, and then left her car to take a look at their newest crime scene.

Despite the different location — a deserted cul-de-sac with nothing but trash containers —, everything else looked hauntingly familiar. A middle-aged man in shabby clothes lay on the ground, purple ligature marks on his neck, his ankles and wrists bound with duct tape, and his half-open eyes emptily staring into the sky above.

Sergeant Korsak was bent over the body, and as soon as he noticed Jane, he presented her with yet another little note.

_54% THINK ONE HOMELESS MAN'S LIFE SHOULD BE TAKEN TO SAVE A DOZEN INNOCENTS. INTERESTING, ISN'T IT?  
__P.S.: CHECK THE GIFT SHOP AT BROOKLINE MALL FOR YOUR VERY OWN SPECIAL GIFT TODAY!_

"He's a homeless guy?" Jane studied the dead man on the ground, then questioningly looked at Korsak.

"We don't know yet… Didn't have any ID on him," the sergeant explained. "Where's Doctor Isles?"

"Should be here any minute," the brunette murmured while still brooding over the note in her hand and the body in front of her.

As if on cue, Maura emerged from around the corner, gave the sergeant a polite _good morning _smile, and knelt down to examine the victim.

While they were waiting for the medical examiner's analysis, Korsak nervously checked his watch. "The mall just opened, but some people are already in there, and they'll definitely have some questions about our bomb squad…"

"Yeah, I'm surprised the press hasn't gone all crazy over this yet," Jane agreed. "But a bomb in a mall… We won't be able to keep this under wraps."

"We'll drive over there right when we're done here," the sergeant announced. "Someone must have seen something…"

"This one's different…," Maura interrupted their conversation.

"What do you mean?" Jane stepped closer.

"His second cervical vertebra appears to be fractured," the doctor stated while carefully examining the man's neck and head. "The force applied to his neck was much stronger in comparison to the other two victims."

"You're saying he fought back?" the detective concluded. "There was a struggle before he died?"

"Well, that's speculation at this point," Maura objected. "But he definitely didn't just sit on a chair while suffocating."

"Hmm…," Jane studied the note in her hands again. "You said there were different variations of that trolley thing — are there any scenarios in which you're more than just an observer?"

"Yes, quite a few, actually," the doctor confirmed and frowned at the implications. "You think the person making the decision this time was forced to participate in the actual killing?"

"Sounds like the next logical escalation to me…," the detective shrugged, then noticed Korsak casting another glance at his watch. "We'll drive to that mall. Could you, uh, make the autopsy of this guy a priority?" She playfully blinked her eyes. "Pleaaase?"

"Don't I _always_ make your cases a priority?" the blonde sighed with a smile.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jane smirked.

Maura shook her head in amusement and watched Jane and Korsak dash away before completing her preliminary examination of the homeless man's body.

…

…

When Jane and Korsak arrived at the Brookline Mall shortly thereafter, the bomb squad was already at the scene — and so were numerous bystanders and reporters waiting outside behind the yellow tape.

"So much for keeping it under wraps," Jane grunted as she and the sergeant flashed their badges at an officer and entered the modern glass building, ignoring the reporters' requests for a statement.

Once inside, they instantly spotted the store in question — a small gift shop near the main entrance on the ground floor of the two-story building. Several bomb squad members in their protective gear were gathered in front of the store, with one of them bellowing out orders while trying to keep two men in suit and tie at bay — in vain.

"We can't afford to shut down the whole mall!" — "There's an important spring sale event this afternoon!" The two suits kept pestering the man in protective gear.

Jane stepped in and showed her badge to the apparent leader of the bomb squad. "Rizzoli, Homicide. What can you—"

"Homicide?" the elder of the two men in suit gasped. "What the hell is going on here? I thought this was about a bomb?"

"It is," Jane brushed him off and subtly signaled to Korsak to get them out of the way.

The sergeant understood blindly, put on his most polite smile, and gently led the two mall managers a few feet away. "We need to check your security cameras, especially the footage from this gift shop…"

As soon as the three men were out of hearing distance, Jane turned back to the bomb squad leader, irritation about the continued interruptions written all over his face.

"We've found the bomb behind a rack with office supplies," he explained with a heavy Boston accent and led Jane into the gift shop. "Same kinda bomb like the other two. How many more of them are you gonna let us disarm?"

Jane shrugged in frustration. "Wish I knew. Just make sure none of them goes off, alright?"

When they reached the racks with office supplies, the bomb squad leader pointed at the bottom where they had found the bomb. "Was hidden down there… between printing paper 'n stuff."

The detective searched the store for security cameras only to realize that, once again, another rack was blocking the view. Whoever was placing these bombs clearly didn't want to be seen.

"So, these bomb threats are connected to a killer you're chasing?" the squad leader broke the silence when Jane was inspecting the rack.

"Yeah…," the brunette confirmed, her mind frantically memorizing every detail of the scene. "Some sicko leaving us dead bodies with clues where to find these bombs…"

"Why would someone leave these clues with dead bodies?" the bomb expert wondered.

"Well, apparently, our killer wants to—" Jane paused mid-sentence when her phone buzzed. She excused herself and took the call, nervously pacing down the aisles while listening to the phone pressed to her ear.

A minute later, she hung up and froze for an instant as if deciding what to do. Eventually, she headed for the exit and waved at the bomb squad leader. "I gotta go. CSRU will finish the scene."

"Alright," he nodded and tried to muster a smile. "Let's hope we won't meet again tomorrow."

As soon as Jane spotted Korsak outside the gift shop, still arguing with the two mall managers, she closed the distance to the three men and gently tugged the sergeant away without giving the two suits enough time to protest. "Excuse us. We'll have to go."

"Thank you," Korsak whispered in relief. "Was afraid I'd never get rid of them. Talked my ears off about their stupid sale this afternoon…" When they left the mall, the sergeant suddenly realized that this wasn't just a ruse to get him away from the two managers. "Wait, where are we going?"

"Back to headquarters," Jane grunted. "They found the killer of our homeless guy."

…

…


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:**__ Welcome back, old & new followers. Glad to have you. FYI, there'll be 15 or 16 chapters in total (still working on the last ones and splitting/merging some stuff, but 15/16 sounds about right). Thanks for reading!_

* * *

…

**Chapter 6**

_**April 2 — Three Days Earlier (continued)**_

Around noon the same day, Jane and Korsak were back in the homicide squad room at BPD and waiting for their latest witness to arrive for his interview. While they had been at the gift shop in the mall, a patrol unit had noticed a suspiciously acting man in the same park where Felix Johnson had woken up. The man's speech had been slurred, and he had rambled on and on about 'some crazy experiment' and 'having killed some homeless dude' — which had reminded the patrol officers of Jane's case that everybody was talking about at BPD. Thus, the officers had taken the man into custody, driven him to the hospital for a check-up and tox test, and finally picked him up again to bring him to headquarters for questioning.

As Jane and Korsak were forced to wait for the man's arrival, the sergeant seized the moment to gulp down a sandwich and to study all their case information on a whiteboard next to his desk, while the detective was watching him from her office chair and nervously tapping her fingers against her keyboard. She hadn't had any coffee at all today, her flu symptoms still hadn't disappeared, and, worst of all, Maura seemed to ignore the text message she had sent ten minutes ago to inquire about the homeless man's autopsy.

When Jane was pretty much ready to choke whoever was closest in an attempt to speed things up, an officer peeked into the bullpen. "Mr. Wolfe is ready…"

With a sigh of relief, the brunette grabbed her cell phone and the case file and rushed to the interview rooms, closely followed by Korsak, who was still chewing on his sandwich.

…

…

When the detective and the sergeant entered the interview room, two men were already seated at the table, both of them dressed in fine threads, except that the younger one looked as if he had been wearing his wrinkled suit all day and night for over a week.

"Rick Wolfe?" Jane greeted him as she and Korsak took their seats on the opposite side of the table.

The man nodded, his eyes sleepy and his right temple sporting a stitched-up contusion.

Before he could say anything, the second man stretched out his hand. "Darren Moskowitz, I'm Mr. Wolfe's lawyer." Jane reluctantly shook his hand as he continued to do the talking, his voice firm and his intentions resonating in every word. "I'd like to stress that my client is under no obligation to talk to you, but he has agreed to do so because of the nature of your case. We will help you as best as we can, but if necessary, Mr. Wolfe will exercise his right to remain silent."

"We appreciate your help," Jane mustered what little patience she had left and checked the folder in front of her. "According to the incident report, you told our officers that you had been forced to participate in an experiment that required you to kill another man." She looked up and studied the businessman's face. "What exactly happened, Mr. Wolfe?"

Rick Wolfe glanced at his lawyer for confirmation, then cleared his throat. "I was on my way home from a business meeting at our office last night when someone tackled me from behind in the parking garage." Despite the severe exhaustion written all over his face, Wolfe spoke with the eloquent routine of someone whose job consisted of presentations, meetings, and conference calls. "I'm not normally such an easy target, but it had been a long day, and—"

"Does that parking garage have video surveillance?" Korsak interjected.

"Only at the entrance," Wolfe shook his head. "It's a private garage, so only people from the offices can get in. At least that's what I've been told…," he snorted in frustration.

"What happened next?" Jane tried to keep him focused.

"I woke up in a tiny, empty room… White walls, no furniture, no windows," the businessman remembered. "My legs felt limp, and my vision was blurry — as if I had been drugged. Then there was a man in what looked like a Tyvek suit, and he explained that I would have to make an important decision…," Wolfe paused and exchanged another glance with his lawyer.

Before Moskowitz could advise his client, Jane leaned forward, vying for Wolfe's attention. "Listen, there's no point in remaining silent now. We already have your statement from the park and—"

"That is hardly admissible in court!" his lawyer objected. "My client was under the influence of drugs, as confirmed by the tox report, and unable to plead the fifth." He turned to the tired man at his side. "You don't have to say anything, Rick."

"Even if we exclude that statement," Jane argued, "we still have the body of the man supposedly killed by your client. We'll get the autopsy results within the next hours, and I wouldn't be surprised if we found traces of your client's DNA on the body…"

Noticing that Wolfe was nervously shifting around on his chair, clearly struggling with his predicament, the detective focused her attention on the businessman, her voice polite but insistent. "And how do you think this will look, Mr. Wolfe? You being picked up in a park, drugged and rambling on about crazy experiments, and then your DNA is found on a homicide victim…? I really wouldn't wanna be in your shoes…"

"Jesus, I just did what had to be done, alright?!" The words finally burst out of Rick Wolfe. "You would've done the same, so stop treating me like a criminal!"

"We wouldn't have to if you cooperated," Korsak retorted.

"Just tell us exactly what happened," Jane pushed on. "If you think you haven't done anything wrong, then I don't see the problem here."

Wolfe let his eyes aimlessly wander around, clenching his fists and wrestling with his decision what to do. Eventually, he straightened up and looked at Jane and Korsak with newly found determination. "That man in the Tyvek suit wanted me to decide whether a homeless man should be sacrificed in order to save dozens of innocent lives. He said there was a bomb in a mall, and if I let the homeless man live, the bomb would go off. Just like the one in Charlestown."

"Did he tell you when or where exactly the bomb had been placed?" Korsak asked, fishing for clues how their mysterious killer had managed to hide those bombs.

"At a mall in Brookline," Wolfe continued. "That's all he said. And if I was ready, I should go next door and either free the homeless man or kill him. There would be a timer, and if I refused to make a decision, the room's ventilation system would be shut down and I'd suffocate. So, after he had left, I went next door, and there was that homeless man, standing on a chair, all tied up, with a noose around his neck."

"And you killed him?" Jane asked to get formal confirmation from the businessman.

"Of course, I did!" Wolfe exclaimed. "What other choice did I have? I mean, one lazy bum or dozens of innocents? That's not exactly rocket science, is it?"

The brunette raised her eyebrows, slightly taken aback by the man's rationale. "No, but you could have—"

"Don't tell me I should've refused to make that decision," Wolfe talked himself into a rage. "That's bullshit! That guy would've suffocated together with me, so it was either _him _dying or _me and him _dying. And I certainly won't bite the dust for some useless bum. I mean, he doesn't even contribute anything to society! He doesn't work his ass off like I do. He doesn't pay taxes. He's basically just another financial burden for the rest of us. So, if his death means the bomb won't go off and all those innocents will be spared, then hell yeah, make it so!"

For a moment, the room fell silent as both Jane and Korsak wordlessly leaned back and Moskowitz closed his eyes, counting to ten in his head and wishing he'd never taken this case.

Irritated by the sudden silence, Wolfe's rage eased off and he let his shoulders sag. "I'm not exactly proud of my decision," he admitted, a certain stubbornness filling his voice. "But if I had to decide again, I'd sure as hell do exactly the same."

"You want to stop talking now, Rick," his lawyer advised firmly.

"Yeah, we've heard enough," Jane grunted and closed the folder in front of her. Whatever sympathy she had felt for the man before had vanished into thin air after his statement. "Excuse us…," she nodded at Moskowitz and his client, then signaled Korsak to follow her outside.

…

…

About two hours later, after all the formalities regarding Rick Wolfe's situation had been handled, Jane finally returned to her desk, sank down in her chair, and buried her head in her hands at the sight of the two stacks of paperwork for her other cases. After another moment of silent cursing, she reached for her cell phone and checked its display. Still no message from Maura.

Frustrated, the brunette jolted up, almost knocking over her chair in the process, and stormed out of the homicide squad's bullpen.

Minutes later, she reached the morgue downstairs, ignored the usual nervous glances that were exchanged between the crime lab assistants upon her boisterous entrance, and headed straight for Maura's office.

When she found the medical examiner behind her desk, relaxed and absorbed in one of her journals, she didn't even bother to knock on the open door. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Startled, Maura looked up. "Reading about that new—"

"You're supposed to do the autopsy of our homeless guy!" Jane didn't hide her frustration.

"What are you talking about? I—"

"You promised you'd do it as soon as you get in! But apparently your stupid journal is more important than—"

"Jane…," Maura warned her patiently.

But patience was something that a furious Jane Rizzoli wasn't quite capable of. "No, don't 'Jane' me! You said you would—"

"Jane!" The blonde's tone left no doubt that she wouldn't tolerate another accusation or objection from the detective.

And being rather familiar with that tone, Jane finally paused and leaned against the doctor's desk, crossing her arms in protest instead.

Maura dropped her journal, got up, and stepped in front of the other woman, forcing Jane to look at her. "You don't get to tell me how to do my job. Are we clear?"

"I just need you to—"

"Are we clear?!"

Unable to hold the blonde's insistent gaze, Jane nodded and let her eyes wander over the floor.

"Good," Maura instantly switched to her usual sweet voice. "And incidentally, I've already finished the autopsy. I sent you a text two hours ago."

"No, you didn't," Jane protested, still trying to rein in her temper.

"Yes, I—," the doctor paused mid-sentence and reached for her blazer draped over her chair. "Gosh darn it, my phone must have died again."

"Really?!" the detective snorted. "Can't even think of a better excuse?"

Trying to disregard Jane's derogatory tone, Maura fished her cell phone out of her blazer's pocket and challengingly handed it to the brunette.

For a few seconds, Jane fumbled with the device and tried to switch it on. In vain. "It won't turn on…"

"You don't say!" the blonde sighed reproachfully and walked over to her office sofa.

"Well, then get a new one or fix the damn thing yourself," the detective attempted one last time to talk herself out of her trouble. "It's not like you couldn't do it…"

Ignoring Jane's apologetic smirk accompanying her last remark, Maura sat down and flipped through several autopsy reports on the wooden table next to the sofa. "I've already ordered a replacement. And I don't know what's wrong with it. Maybe a battery problem…"

"I'm sorry…," Jane murmured as she plopped down next to the blonde. "But I'm only in a bad mood because you won't let me have coffee."

Maura tilted her head in confusion. "I never said you were not _allowed_ to have coffee… I just gave you some medical advice, that's all."

"Yeah, right," the detective chuckled. "And if I ignore it, you're gonna give me that look of yours every time I even _think _about having coffee."

"What look?" the doctor piped innocently.

"You know perfectly well what look…," Jane smiled as her anger finally ebbed away. "Now, what about that autopsy? Found an ID?"

"Ah, yes, I did. His prints and dental records were in the system." Maura pulled out one of the autopsy reports and glanced over the information contained therein. "His name is Gordon Wallace. Served in _Desert Storm_… Was diagnosed with PTSD a few years after his discharge and never really got his life back together."

Jane reached for the file and studied the homeless veteran's profile.

"He was hung," the medical examiner continued her summary. "And he had contusions and defensive wounds inflicted several hours before his death. Most likely, he fought back when he was kidnapped. I also found polyethylene fibers under his fingernails — the same kind that is used for certain types of hazmat suits. But we didn't find any DNA."

As Jane read the notes in Wallace's file — about his divorce, about his inability to keep a job for more than six months due to his depression, about his loss of everything he held dear —, she couldn't help but remember Rick Wolfe's argument about the now homeless man's contribution to society. And consequently, her mood took a turn for the worse again.

"What's wrong?" Maura worried as the brunette silently stared at the documents in her hands.

Jane shrugged and put away the report. "Can you tell what someone's life was worth? I mean, let's say you have two bodies in front of you. Can you tell whose life was more valuable?"

"I don't think I understand," Maura admitted, taken by surprise by Jane's sudden deep thoughts.

"Yeah, neither do I," the detective sighed and tiredly leaned back.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" the blonde asked carefully.

"Well, we just interviewed the man who had to kill Wallace," Jane explained. "And he… I don't know, he just treated it like a fricking business decision. As if you could assign a precise value to people's lives… And then all you'd have to do to decide who gets to live and who dies is some quick math."

Noticing with concern how the detective was nervously rubbing the scars on her hands — one of her tell-tale signs that something was truly bothering her—, Maura listened in silence, wishing and hoping that this case would soon be over.

"He didn't even feel sorry about it," the brunette added in disgust.

"He's probably still in shock…," Maura suggested.

"Or he's just an asshole…," Jane grunted.

"He was forced to kill another human being, Jane," the doctor tried to reason. "He is subconsciously finding ways to justify his decision in order not to be consumed by his guilt."

Not quite satisfied with that answer, the detective took a deep breath and checked her watch. "Dinner at the _Robber _later?"

"If you'll eat some greens with your fries…," the blonde smiled teasingly.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice."

"Yeah, right," Jane punched Maura's knee in jest and got up.

The blonde suppressed a chuckle and gathered her autopsy reports. "I'll meet you upstairs in an hour?"

"Okay," the detective nodded contentedly.

…

…

Around 7 p.m., Jane and Maura were seated at their usual booth in the _Dirty Robber_. While the detective was reviewing course materials and student listings from Professor Howell that she had spread out all over the table, the medical examiner was lackadaisically picking at her usual kale salad, her eyes repeatedly peeking at a plate of French fries sitting next to Jane. When the brunette began to scribble down notes on a piece of paper and appeared fully consumed by her work, Maura subtly stole two of those deliciously looking golden fries.

Not entirely unnoticed though.

Jane cleared her throat without looking up. "I told you to get your own order…"

"No, no, that would have been too much," Maura objected, innocently nibbling the fries. "Just these two and that's it."

"Yeah, sure…," Jane chuckled but kept her attention on the documents in front of her.

"I thought you said Sergeant Korsak was going to join us?" the blonde quickly changed the subject and continued eating her salad.

"Uh huh… probably got stuck with his paperwork," the brunette murmured absentmindedly as she turned the next page.

For another minute, Jane kept checking the slides and listings in an attempt either to find parallels between her case and Howell's lectures or to detect any potentially suspicious clues among the student data from the past five years. Maybe someone had taken the class repeatedly for no apparent reason. Or maybe some alumnus could be connected to one of their victims or witnesses.

Noticeably unsatisfied with her salad, Maura patiently let another strategic interval pass until the detective was taking notes again. Trying to be even more inconspicuous this time, her hand once again found its way to the plate of fries and lightened its load.

"Maura!" the detective whined warningly.

"Well, they're getting cold since you're not eating them…," the doctor argued.

Before Jane could give the cheeky fry thief her proper scolding, Sergeant Korsak entered the bar and strode to the women's table, briefly nodding to the waitress to order his usual beer.

"Anything new?" the brunette greeted him as he plopped down next to Maura, who had already skidded further towards the window, knowing quite well that Jane hated to be locked into her seat and preferred to have her side of the table to herself.

"Nope," Korsak shook his head and curiously glanced at Jane's files. "What are you doing?"

The detective sighed and pushed some of Howell's lecture slides across the table. "Just trying to find a way to predict our killer's next move. There are certain similarities with Howell's course…"

The sergeant thoroughly studied the papers with an introduction of the _Trolley Problem _and brief notes on its philosophical analysis from a utilitarian perspective.

"Why would you spend thousands of dollars on tuition and then sit around debating such hypothetical scenarios?" Korsak moaned and took a large draft from the beer the waitress had just placed in front of him.

"Don't ask _me_…," Jane shrugged defensively and turned to Maura, expecting her to enlighten them with a lengthy lecture about the significance of that thought experiment for their everyday lives. However, the medical examiner was completely oblivious to their discussion, her eyes glued to Jane's fries. When the sudden silence at the table eventually reached her brain, Maura looked up in confusion and found her two colleagues staring at her.

"I'm sorry… What?"

Jane rolled her eyes and demonstratively shoved the plate of fries towards the blonde. "Here… happy now?"

Maura's delighted smile was as good as any answer — and enough to warm the detective's heart. She would have happily starved to death if it meant that the doctor's face would brighten up a little longer.

"That trolley thing and all those moral dilemmas…," Jane focused her thoughts. "Why would you waste your college years sitting around and discussing such hypothetical nonsense?"

"Oh, the subject matter is quite relevant in real life," Maura pointed out, instantly re-activating her usual know-it-all self.

"For ordinary people or just for serial killers?" Korsak grimaced.

"No, no, for all of us," the medical examiner objected. "In the field of medicine, for example… particularly when it comes to organ donations or artificial life support. Physicians have to make these kinds of decisions every day…"

"But they don't normally kill someone in order to save somebody else," Jane interjected.

"Not in the literal sense," Maura pondered the argument. "But consider a surgeon who has to decide which patient on his waiting list will get the next available kidney. The one who's hard-working, with a career and a family to feed, but with an alcohol problem? Or the one who's unemployed, single, and on social benefits, but who has been sober all his life and promises to treat his new kidney with respect? Which of them _deserves_ to live?"

"Well, all I know is that you'd be on top of the list," Jane smiled. "You're handing out your organs like birthday presents, so if you ever need one, they'd better make sure you'll get one back."

"Okay, so, Sergeant Korsak," Maura turned to her colleague, hazel eyes sparkling with scientific interest. "If Jane and I needed a new kidney and there was only one available, would you agree that I deserved it more than your long-time partner and friend?"

"Oh boy," Korsak took another long draft, hoping it would buy him some time.

When he couldn't decide — especially not in favor of Jane —, the brunette playfully frowned at him, ripped the lecture slides out of his hand, and pointedly gathered all her documents on her side of the table. "I don't think we're partners anymore, Sergeant Korsak."

"Hey, all I wanted was a cool beer and relax," the sergeant whined, uncomfortably wiggling on his seat. When Jane teasingly raised her eyebrow and didn't intend to let him get off that easily, he shrugged. "Come on, Jane, if you had to decide between me and Doctor Isles, you wouldn't think twice."

Oblivious to the blush appearing on Maura's cheeks, Jane grinned at the sergeant. "Aww, I wouldn't let you die just like that, Korsak." When he squinted in doubt, the brunette's grin spread even wider. "I mean, you once made me promise to take care of that little zoo of yours in case something ever happened to you, and as much as I like you, I'm not ready to play Doctor Dolittle with your furry friends."

"Speaking of which," Korsak finished his beer and got up. "I need to get going."

"Watson still being a rebel?" Jane teased.

The sergeant sheepishly nodded and placed a few dollar bills next to his empty glass. "I'll see you tomorrow," he nodded at the two women. "And leave me alone with your stupid _trolley games_."

As soon as Korsak had left, Maura snatched two more fries from the plate that was now hers and chuckled. "You scared him away…"

"Nah, he's fine," Jane objected and stuffed all the lecture slides and documents into a folder before taking a draft from her own beer and letting her eyes aimlessly wonder around. "He's right though," she murmured eventually.

"About what?" Maura wondered.

"If it were between him and you…," the detective glanced at the blonde but didn't dare to hold her curious gaze. "He wouldn't stand a chance…"

Maura hesitated, unsure whether she should categorize Jane's quiet confession as just another tipsy slip in between two beers, or as a mere acknowledgment of the doctor's flu-fighting efforts, or as… something else?

"I don't think it's as simple as that… Sergeant Korsak is your partner after all…," the medical examiner pointed out but only received a _So what? _shrug from the detective in return. "You've been through so much together…" Maura's eyes fell on Jane's right hand lying flat on the table, the distinct scar Hoyt's scalpel had left on her skin serving as an eternal testament to the darkest moment in Jane's partnership with the sergeant. Instinctively, the doctor reached for the brunette's hand and contemplatively let her fingers brush over the scar.

And for a little while, Jane just let it happen and continued sipping her beer, the soothing touch of Maura's fingers sending tingling sensations through her whole body. But as she finally glanced at her hand in Maura's, and at the scar etched into her rough flesh, all her worries poured back into her mind. All her constantly lingering memories of Hoyt… of the threat he had posed not only to herself but also to Maura… of the madness in his eyes when he had attempted to kill the blonde in that prison's medical ward… And once again, panic surged through Jane's veins… the same panic that would always eat her up at the mere thought of losing Maura.

And there was only one thing she could do to stop that panic from spreading further, from killing her little by little inside.

"I should go," Jane whispered and subtly but decisively pulled her hand away from Maura's. She grabbed the folder in front of her and got up. "I wanna finish reviewing these files… Maybe there's something in here that'll help us stop our killer…"

Maura knew the brunette was about to run again, and at this point, there was nothing that would hold her back. And thus, the doctor mustered her warmest smile and simply nodded when Jane gently brushed over her arm and wished her a good night, a feeble gesture to acknowledge that the detective herself was very much aware that she was running but that she had no intention to stop.

Once Jane had left the _Dirty Robber_, Maura slouched her shoulders and tiredly leaned back. When the waitress passed her booth and questioningly pointed at her almost empty glass of wine, the doctor nodded and ordered another one. She had all the time in the world now, and there was no reason to hurry home. She would spend the night alone anyway.

…

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	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**__ One more before the weekend. And you'd better show me some Valentine's Day review love or I'm gonna be all sad and have to take it out on the characters. ;-)  
__Re: Guest reviewer 1: Nope, not Dutch (not far away though). Just a funny coincidence with that name.  
__Re: Guest reviewer 2: If you look at the chapters' structure, you can kinda figure out in which chapter approximately Jane will have to make her decision. :-)_

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**Chapter 7**

_**April 5, 2014**_

"There is no 'us', Jane." Maura's words come without warning. Like the sucker punch that knocks you out when you're already down.

"Of course, there is…," Jane objects in a whisper. Incredulous. Desperate.

Maura shakes her head, tears glinting in her eyes. "What exactly do you want me to fight for? To see you run away again?"

"What, you're saying it's my fault?" The brunette's voice is cracking. "You want to die because of me?"

"No, but I… I've considered all circumstances," the doctor struggles. She has had enough time to prepare her arguments, to make that which is inconceivable sound logical. But now the words are dying in her throat. "I've thought about it for the last I-don't-know-how-many hours, and it's just that…"

"Just what?" The detective attempts to shed her vulnerability, to push for an explanation, to seek refuge in her anger.

"Think of all the people that would die… families, children… They have so much more than what we have," Maura's eyes are pleading for understanding. "We can't take it all away from them for some selfish reason…"

"_We_ are not taking it away from them, Maura — _he _is!" Jane's voice is gaining in volume and intensity, building an acoustic shield against the hurt inflicted by the doctor's suggestion. "_We _didn't plant that damn bomb — _he_ did!"

"But _we_ are the ones who can stop it…" Maura doesn't know how much longer she can hold it together, how much longer she can convince herself that she's doing the right thing.

The detective pauses, studies the doctor's face, hoping that Maura simply wants to be talked out of her intended sacrifice. "No one would blame you if you wanted to live…"

"This isn't about what I want," the blonde insists. "This is about what's best for everybody…"

A desperate sigh escapes Jane's lips as she crouches down and leans against the bars, her last hopes fading away. "Yeah, everybody but me…"

For a few precious seconds, silence engulfs the basement as Jane buries her head in her arms and Maura can't do anything but sit on her chair and watch. She knows there is nothing she could say to make it easier for the detective, but she needs to drown the doubt in her own mind. "It's… it's like in that _Star Wars _movie we watched… you know, when they talked about the need of the many versus the need of the few…?"

Jane's reaction is unexpected. With her face still hidden between her arms, her body is shaking as if in a fit of weeping. But it's not tears that are breaking free. Instead, the sound of muffled giggling is filling the room.

And it is beyond Maura's grasp. "Are… are you laughing?"

Wearily, Jane looks up. And she is laughing indeed. But it's a desperate laughter in light of the irony of their situation. "You mean _Star Trek_, Maura, and I fucking hate _Star Trek_…"

The thought of their movie nights is comforting and heartbreaking at the same time, and Maura tries to muster a smile. She doesn't succeed. "You said nobody hated _Star Trek_…"

"Yeah, but I do now…" Jane wipes the tears from her eyes, as if this tiny illusion of normalcy has given her new strength. She turns to the other woman behind the bars. "I wouldn't have made it through after Frost's death without you… I can't lose you, too, Maura."

The blonde hesitates, overwhelmed by the honesty and vulnerability in Jane's face. And it makes everything so much harder. "You can't lose what you never really had…"

In an instant, that last flicker of optimism dies in Jane's eyes, and fiery protest takes its place instead. "Fine, if you want to die, then I'm gonna die with you. I'll just sit in that other room and do nothing… Whatever. Let him shut down the damn ventilation. I don't care…"

"No, Jane!" Panic grips Maura's heart. This is not acceptable. "The bomb would still go off and… and I don't want you to die."

"But you want me to kill you — that's pretty much the same." The detective shrugs. Nothing really matters anymore.

"Don't think about it as killing me," the doctor argues feebly. "Think about it as saving all those people…"

But Maura's attempt to justify her decision with a mere twist of words only feeds Jane's resistance. "If you're so desperate to save all those strangers, then do it yourself."

"You know I can't…," Maura sighs and glances at the button attached to the bars — the button that's out of reach for her. The button that would save all those innocent lives in Fenway Park — and kill her instead. The button that Jane has to press in less than six minutes… "Please, don't put this burden on my shoulders, Jane. I couldn't live with the thought that you let all those people die. And you couldn't either."

"I don't think about it as letting all those people die," the detective counters, stubbornness resonating in her voice. "I think about it as saving you."

"You can't save me, Jane. Not this time."

…

…

_**April 3 — Two Days Earlier**_

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, when the city was still wrapped in darkness and the first commuters had just begun to board the MTBA busses and the trains of the "T", Jane was already back behind her desk at BPD, stifling a yawn and trying to focus on her current case. Except for an overly ambitious rookie detective diligently doing his paperwork at the far end of the bullpen, she was all by herself and easily could have seized the rare quiet to cut her own stack of paperwork in half. If only her brain had cooperated…

But after she had so abruptly run out of the _Dirty Robber_ the night before, her brain had refused to even consider the idea of falling asleep and instead had turned its attention to Maura, to their relationship, and to all of her associated fears. Again. And when five hours of tossing and turning in her sheets hadn't brought any helpful revelation, she had finally surrendered and rolled out of bed at 4 a.m., cursing at her alarm and at her shoes and at everything else, and decided that she might as well go back to work.

Unfortunately, the change of location hadn't resulted in anything but a deep desire to crawl back into her bed, even if only to pretend to be asleep.

Unnerved by her brain's waywardness, Jane heaved herself up from her office chair and strolled to the coffee machine on the table next to Korsak's desk. If she wanted to get anything done today, she would have to switch back to her usual morning routine, and that definitely included coffee. But when she reached for a plastic cup in anticipation and chose her preferred settings on the machine, she couldn't help but imagine Maura hovering next to her, lecturing her about the benefits of green tea for her convalescence and giving her _that look_ again. And suddenly, her desire for coffee vanished into thin air, as if her body had secretly conspired with her brain in an attempt to make her day as frustrating and tiresome as possible.

With an angry growl, she crumpled up the plastic cup and tossed it into the trash bin before stomping back to her desk, earning her a curious and slightly frightened glance from the rookie detective at the other end of the room.

Why in the world couldn't her damn brain stop thinking about the medical examiner for at least one minute? Was that really too much to ask? After all, Maura's mind didn't seem to be as preoccupied with their relationship either. Granted, Maura's mind had a gazillion little fun facts to distract itself, but still… Maybe the medical examiner didn't consider them to be anything but best friends after all? Maybe all of Maura's ambiguous gestures weren't that ambiguous at all? A few days ago, the blonde hadn't hesitated to suggest spending less time together. And last night, Maura hadn't really tried to stop her from bolting out of the _Dirty Robber_ either…

As Jane let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, still without coffee or focus, her eyes fell on the empty desk opposite her own — the desk that once belonged to Detective Frost but was now used as needed by various members of the homicide unit. And inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to that fateful Brookline bombing less than five months ago, how it had changed everything, how she had let herself go and almost skipped Frost's funeral. And how Maura had been there for her all the while and done so much more than could be expected from any best friend.

Maybe it was finally time to talk about it, to lay all cards on the table, to take the next step and hope they'd still be walking into the same direction.

When the clock above Korsak's desk showed 7:30 a.m. and her stack of paperwork was still as high as it had been two hours before, Jane grabbed her phone and keys and rushed out of the bullpen, hoping to catch the medical examiner before she'd start her first autopsy of the day, determined to sort out the matter once and for all.

But as soon as she reached Maura's office, as soon as she spotted the blonde standing at her desk with her back turned to the door, all of Jane's resolve evaporated and left her scrambling for words as she leaned against the door frame and let her eyes linger a little too long on her friend. That overdue conversation about the state of their relationship had been postponed so often, it sure could wait a day longer…

Before the brunette had a chance to ponder what to say instead, the medical examiner involuntarily gave her a cue when she let out a sudden not-so-quiet sneeze.

"Uh oh," Jane made her presence known. "And so it begins…"

"It's just one sneeze," Maura objected as she turned around and greeted the brunette with a smile before searching for a tissue on her desk.

Shaking her head in amusement at the doctor's denial, the detective grabbed a box of tissues from the table next to the sofa and handed it to Maura. After her own battle with those obnoxious influenza viruses, Jane knew all too well that there'd be more to come than just one sneeze. "You should go home and enjoy a full meal while your stomach is still cooperating. Trust me, there won't be any culinary pleasures for you over the next few days…"

"I don't intend to get sick," the blonde declared as she took the tissues and subtly blew her nose.

Jane leaned against the desk and skeptically raised her eyebrow. "Oh, so you just _decide_ you won't get sick, and that's it?"

"Well, there's a strong correlation between one's psychological attitude and physical strength," Maura explained. "For example, a recent study shows that if your brain is convinced you've had a healthy eight hours of sleep, your cognitive functioning will improve significantly."

"Hmm, my brain could use some convincing then," the detective sighed. "Haven't slept at all last night."

Biting her lip at the implications between the lines, Maura averted her eyes and focused on a stack of case files on her desk instead. "I thought your sleeping problems had gotten better…"

"Well… apparently not…," Jane murmured.

After too many nights of shared sleep patterns, they both knew perfectly well why the detective's insomnia had returned, but when Jane didn't show any intention to elaborate further, Maura picked the top-most case file and decided to get started with her tasks of the day instead. She might have wanted to talk about the state of their relationship, and maybe she should have continued to push the matter, but sleep had equally eluded her the night before. And as she had lain awake in the quiet of her house, thinking about how many hints and chances she had given Jane to clear up the ambiguity surrounding their relationship, she had been forced to admit to herself that maybe some things should simply remain unsaid. Maybe this was just the way their relationship was destined to be. Best friends forever, but nothing more.

Trying not to let her melancholy take over her voice, the medical examiner headed for the autopsy room. "I'll have to get started with the autopsy for Detective Crowe's case…"

Jane nodded, quietly yearning to just let it all out… All her fears and worries that had kept her up all night… All the thoughts that had so eloquently kept her from her work just minutes ago upstairs… But like so many times before, a flood of what-ifs inevitably drowned everything else, making it impossible to find the right words to express all the things she wanted to say.

"Hey, Maura…," she called after the blonde instead and mustered a smile when the other woman turned back around. "If your body decides to ignore your mind and gets sick anyway, just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay…," Maura returned the brunette's smile, or at least she tried, and then disappeared in the autopsy room next door.

Mentally scolding herself for having chickened out like that once again, Jane trudged out of the morgue and absentmindedly pushed the elevator's UP button. As the door opened after a few seconds, she was almost knocked over by a very agitated Sergeant Korsak.

"There you are," he gasped out of breath. "We gotta go — we have a survivor!"

…

…

Half an hour later, Jane and Korsak arrived at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center to talk to a young woman who appeared to have survived the latest insidious moral dilemma devised by their philosophically inclined killer. Two cops had found her semi-consciously ambulating in a park between Southie and Dorchester, and after they had listened to her somewhat incoherent description of her ordeal, they had alarmed Homicide — because of the story she had told, because of the five dead men she had mentioned, and because of what had almost happened to herself.

When they were led into Darla Fisher's room, Jane didn't need to listen to the nurse's medical mumbo-jumbo to understand the condition of the weary woman with a purple bruise on her head — her panic-stricken eyes, her shaking hands, and her instinctive glances towards the door were all too familiar signs of someone who had experienced a life-altering trauma, who had barely escaped death, and who would not be able to sleep in peace for a long time to come.

"Darla? I'm Detective Rizzoli," Jane carefully took the woman's hand, sat on the edge of the bed, and nodded at Korsak. "This is my partner, Sergeant Korsak. I know you've been through something terrible and you just want to forget, but we need you to tell us exactly what happened to you… Do you think you can do that?"

After a few more fearful glances at the detectives and at the nurse waiting near the door, Darla Fisher nodded, hesitant at first but then with the stubborn determination of a woman who refused to be treated like a victim for the rest of her life. "What do you want to know…?"

"Tell us everything from the start," Jane urged her calmly. "Take your time and try to remember as much as you can…"

"Well, I… I'm running a mobile bakery on Oxford Street, right on campus," the young woman began. "Yesterday morning, around six, I think… or maybe it was seven… but it was still dark… I… I had just started getting everything ready… And then a car parked right next to my van… and its lights were blinding me. I thought it was a student or one of the researchers, you know… they are always up so early and often stop at my bakery to get coffee and bagels before going to the lab or to their lectures…"

"You didn't really see the car then?" Korsak wondered while scribbling down notes on his pad.

"No…," Darla shook her head. "It was a dark one… an economy car, I think… but I couldn't see any details, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Jane calmed her. "What happened next?"

"I think I… I must have returned to my van," the young woman squinted, trying to remember more details. "I know I heard that car's door open and… and someone must have gotten out… I remember I wanted to offer them some coffee but I… I'm afraid I don't know what happened next."

"They probably knocked you out. It's perfectly normal that you can't remember," Jane tried to console her. "What about that room you mentioned to our officers? What happened in there?"

"It was cold… like in a basement," Darla took a deep breath. "And there were no windows… And I woke up in some sort of cell… tied to a chair and… and my mouth was taped and I…"

When the young woman swallowed hard, barely able to describe what happened next, Jane comfortingly squeezed her hand, trying to help her through her difficult task as best as she could. "It's alright… take as much time as you need…"

"I'm… when I woke up…," Darla finally continued. "There were five men with me in that cell… They were all… all tied up and gagged, just like me. And… I don't know how long we sat there… They kept staring at me and… and I didn't know what was going on… But then after a while, there was another man — or, well, at least he walked like a man, but he was wearing one of those…, uh, a hazmat suit and a mask… And he just stood there and looked at us… And his eyes… I'll never forget his eyes… They were so… so cold and… and…"

When Darla Fisher took another break and shyly wiped away a few tears, Korsak handed her a tissue from the nightstand and worriedly looked at Jane. "We need more than just his eyes…" he whispered.

"I know…," Jane breathed back before turning her attention to Darla again. "What happened then? How did you escape?"

"We all waited for minutes, or hours, I don't know…," Darla remembered, her voice getting heavier with every word. "Then something changed with the ventilation system, and it got colder in the room and harder to breathe… And there was a timer on the wall… And it kept ticking down…" She swallowed hard again before she continued. "When… when there were only two minutes left on the clock and we could barely breathe any longer, another guy stumbled into the basement… He must have come in from another room, and he… he looked confused and tired, and his suit was all wrinkled… And… he was carrying a gun…"

As the young woman subconsciously clutched Jane's hand in panic, the detective gently brushed her arm and gave her another moment to breathe. "Shh, you're safe here… no one's gonna hurt you again, I promise."

Sniffing into her tissue, Darla eventually mustered whatever strength she had left and finished her story. "That other guy, he… he panicked… He looked at his gun and… and at the five men… and then at me… And then he straightened up and looked me in the eyes and raised his gun and… and I thought… I thought this is it… But then, all of a sudden, he turned to the five men and fired at them… He shot them… He shot them all… And then he stormed off and the ventilation came back on… And I just sat there and… and watched those five men bleed to death… And then, after a few minutes, the man in the hazmat suit came back, and I tried to scream but he… he just didn't seem to care about any of this… He came straight into the cell and injected me with something… And… and the next thing I really remember is the park and those two officers trying to talk to me…"

When Darla blew her nose, her hands shaking and barely able to grasp the tissue, the nurse waiting in the door frame decided it was time her patient got some much needed rest. "I think this was enough for today, Detectives… Miss Fisher really needs to sleep now."

Not quite satisfied but feeling sympathetic towards the young woman, Jane nodded and got up.

"Wait, I forgot," Darla held her back and reached for a slip of paper on the nightstand. "I found this in my pocket… And I think I remember him telling me to give it to the police…"

The detective didn't really need to read the note to know what kind of message it contained. After a quick glance, she wordlessly handed it to Korsak.

_79% ARE AGAINST THE DEATH PENALTY, BUT 83% WOULDN'T HESITATE TO SHOOT FIVE FELONS WHO HAVE SERVED THEIR TIME. ODD, ISN'T IT?  
__P.S.: GIVE YOUR BOMB SQUAD A DAY OFF. BUT YOU SHOULD GET A FEW BUCKETS OF WATER…_

"Why is he doing this?" Darla looked at her visitors with teary eyes. "Why me?"

Struggling to find the right answer to this question she had heard so often before, Jane couldn't do anything but squeeze the woman's hand once more. "We don't know yet. But I promise we'll find out. And we'll make sure he will never hurt anybody else again."

When the nurse shot them another impatient look, Jane and Korsak cast one last worried glance at the young woman and then snuck out of the room.

Ten minutes later, as they got into Korsak's car and leaned back in silence, still brooding over Darla Fisher's haunting recollection, the sergeant's phone started buzzing in his pocket. Annoyed by the interruption of his train of thought, he whipped it out and answered the call.

Following a sequence of _What?_ and _I see…_ and _We'll be right there_, the sergeant hung up and frowned at Jane. "Maybe we won't have to search for these five dead men for long. There's been a fire at a foreclosure home in Southie. Five dead. And my gut tells me they didn't die in the flames…"

…

…

After a speedy ride through the streets of Boston, Korsak parked his sedan behind half a dozen firetrucks and police vans near a yellow-taped row of dilapidated houses in the south of the city, and he and Jane got out of the car.

Billows of smoke were still hovering over one of the houses, and its decayed wooden walls were severely burned and coated with a thick layer of soot.

"Detectives? Over here!" One of the uniformed men waved them towards the house, and after a quick game of _Name That Face_, Jane recognized him as Officer Radnor from one of their previous crime scenes. "The fire's under control, and the techs are already inside. The whole thing has been made to look like an exploded gas leak, but everything smells like foul play. No pun intended…" Officer Radnor tried not to crack up at his own joke as he led them onto the front porch.

"And I take it the dead guys you found in there didn't die during a cozy barbecue?" Jane let her eyes wander over the area. "Is the M.E. already in?"

Before Officer Radnor could respond, a sneeze from inside the house answered the brunette's question. "Never mind," she muttered and cautiously entered the building through its charred front door.

When she spotted Maura bent over two equally charred bodies in a corner of what used to be the living room, Jane squatted down next to the blonde and smirked at her from the side. "Just one sneeze, huh?"

Maura briefly looked up to greet the detective but then focused back on the corpses in front of her. "I'm telling you, it's nothing."

"Sure, sure…," Jane chuckled. "And your eyes are all teary because you're just so sad about this crime scene?"

"One of the bodies in the other room wasn't as badly burned and had a gunshot wound to his chest," the medical examiner explained, ignoring Jane's teasing. "These two here have severe fourth-degree burns, and I need to do a full autopsy to confirm their actual cause of death."

"I'm gonna put my money on gunshot wounds to the chest for all five of them…," the detective murmured.

"You can't know that for sure," Maura objected.

"I think I can," Jane grimaced. "We've just talked to another victim of our philosophy killer… Looks like he's bored by his bomb threats and decided to mix things up a little…"

"What?" the doctor paused her examination of the bodies. "You're saying these dead men are connected to that case?"

"Uh huh…," the detective nodded and nervously rubbed the scars on the back of her hands. "And I don't really wanna know which other variations our killer is going to explore…"

…

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	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for the lovely reviews. They make me happy, which means that the characters will get a moment to breathe… But don't get too comfortable. :-P_

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**Chapter 8**

_**April 3 — Two Days Earlier (continued)**_

In the late afternoon, Maura was back at her autopsy tables in the morgue at BPD and stood bent over the burned body of one of the men from the foreclosure home. The third man, to be precise. Two of them had already been examined and identified as recently released felons via a match of their dental impression with NCIC records, and the fourth and the fifth body were still lying in the morgue's cold chamber next door, waiting to be identified next.

While the medical examiner was trying to ignore her running nose and focus on her task at hand instead, Jane was leaning against the small desk in Maura's back and anxiously clicking through several geographic information systems on the doctor's laptop in an attempt to determine the approximate location of that infamous basement where their killer was conducting his experiments.

"There's no way he's working alone," the detective murmured as she let another program calculate routes and distances between the different crime scenes. "The time window between those guys getting shot and Darla Fisher waking up in that park is just too short for one person to move the bodies and arrange everything in the foreclosure home…"

"Hmm…," Maura hummed absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the burned flesh in front of her.

"Plus, it's not like our killer picked up some random people in the street for his wicked games," Jane mused further. "We're talking about five grown-up men here… Five felons, apparently… Even if he knocks them out and drugs them, he definitely needs help setting up all of this."

"Uh huh…" The medical examiner still didn't pay much attention to the detective.

"I just don't get it why they left those notes about the bombs… And that lame cover-up in Southie? They knew we'd find out that these guys didn't die in the fire, so what's the point? It's like they're playing with us… But I don't—" Jane paused and impatiently glared at Maura. "Are you even listening to me?"

"What?" The blonde finally looked up. But before she could properly respond to the detective, she suddenly squinted, dropped her scalpel on the table, and barely managed to halt another sneeze with the crook of her arm.

Ignoring the obvious déjà vu here, Jane just rolled her eyes. "You know how they say that doctors make terrible patients?"

Maura picked up her scalpel and continued examining the dead man's chest. "Does that apply to all doctors or only to those with a constantly jabbering detective in their back?"

"Jabbering? Uh, okay…," the brunette pouted and stepped next to the medical examiner. "Well, I'm sorry I'm trying to solve a case here…"

Realizing that she might have sounded a little less playful than intended, the doctor sighed and let her scalpel sink again. "I'm sorry… It's just that… I'm…"

"You're what…?" Jane knowingly raised her eyebrow.

And after one last failed attempt to let her mind control her body, Maura finally gave in. "I'm sick, alright?!"

"See!" The detective grinned triumphantly. "That wasn't so hard to admit, was it?"

"But I can't just leave," the blonde protested. "I have to finish this autopsy…"

Secretly rejoicing in her victory, Jane decided to seize her chance and go all in. "Okay, if I promise not to interrupt again, will you let me take you home when you're done here?"

Maura checked her watch and sighed in defeat. "I doubt you'll manage to remain quiet…"

"Nah, I will…," the detective affirmed. "I'm just gonna have to find somebody else to—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence as Korsak peeked into the autopsy room from the medical examiner's office. "Jane, got a minute?"

"Look, the cavalry to your rescue!" Jane smirked at Maura. "I'm sure Korsak won't mind me _jabbering_ in his back for a while…" Ignoring the sudden panic flashing over the sergeant's face, Jane warningly nudged the blonde. "And don't even think about sneaking in another body. After this one, you're done for today."

"If you say so, Detective…," Maura smiled in agreement, too tired to object, and then continued her autopsy as Jane followed Korsak into the office next door.

Before the brunette had a chance to ask the sergeant what had brought him down to the morgue, she already received her answer in the form of Professor Howell, who was waiting in the door frame to Maura's office.

"Detective Rizzoli, it's nice to see you again," Howell smiled.

"Professor… What brings you here?" Jane wondered as she shook his outstretched hand.

The professor held up several books in his other hand. "I was—"

The rest of his sentence was cut short by a not so elegant sneeze from Maura next door.

After a concerned glance at the medical examiner through the glass window, Jane smirked at the professor. "You remember Doctor Isles…?"

"Ah, yes," Howell nodded and curiously peeked into the autopsy room. "Weren't _you _the one with the cold yesterday?"

"Well, sharing is caring…," Jane joked as the professor's inquisitive eyes went back and forth between the two women. "So, do you have any new information for us?"

"Oh, right…," the academic suddenly remembered the books in his hand and gave them to Jane and Korsak. "I brought you some literature on morality and on these different thought experiments. And a copy of my lecture videos…" He fished a USB key out of his pocket. "In a way, I feel responsible for your case. If your killer is doing this because of my lectures—"

"We currently don't know the precise motive behind these crimes," Korsak chimed in. "Just because your lectures cover this subject matter doesn't mean you're responsible."

"Well, still…," Howell shrugged. "I want to help."

"We appreciate it, Professor," Jane added thankfully while shooting another glance at Maura as the blonde was blowing her nose behind the autopsy table.

"So, do you already have any idea who could be behind this?" The professor questioningly looked at Jane and Korsak.

"We're following several leads," Jane explained. "But I'm afraid I can't really tell you more right now since it's an ongoing investigation…"

"Oh, yes, of course," Howell smiled understandingly. "I'm sorry."

"I was wondering though…," the detective furrowed her brow. "Is there any research that examines what kind of decisions people tend to make in these scenarios?"

The professor hesitated, unsure about the significance of the question. "Well, the purpose of this whole field is to explore people's decisions—"

"No, I mean, are there any actual numbers…," Jane added. "Such as '90% of all people would pull the lever in the trolley scenario'?"

"Yes, there are various surveys like this," Howell confirmed. "But in most cases, the results are not representative."

"Hmm…," the detective paused for a moment. "You conduct such surveys in your lectures, too?"

"Not exactly," the academic shook his head. "As you'll see in the videos, we tend to have lively discussions in class, and students indicate their decisions with a show of hands. But we're not really counting."

"Okay, and—"

Before the brunette could follow up on her question, Maura hurried into the office — without paying any attention to Jane, Korsak, and Howell gathered next to her desk — and absentmindedly rummaged through her drawers until she found a pack of Kleenex. Unaware of the other three people curiously watching her, she pulled out a fresh tissue and trudged back into the autopsy room while blowing her nose.

As soon as the odd intermezzo was over, Jane smirked at the professor. "You'll have to excuse her. Her mind is a little overwhelmed by her body's desire to be sick."

"I understand…," Howell chuckled, then checked his watch. "Well, I should go. I'm probably keeping you from your work…"

"No, no, it was nice of you to come here," the detective assured him. "I might get back to you with more questions after I've watched your videos."

"Sure," the professor smiled. "It will be my pleasure to discuss this further with you…"

After a brief shake of hands, Howell left the office and the brunette's eyes turned right back towards Maura.

"Why did you ask him about the numbers?" Korsak wondered once the professor was out of earshot. "You think that's a hidden clue in these notes we're getting?"

"I don't know…," Jane murmured and flipped through the books in her hands. "But I feel like we're missing something here…"

"I'll check out the scene at Oxford Street around Darla Fisher's bakery van," the sergeant announced. "See if I can find any witnesses or anything else that might help…"

"Alright. I'm gonna go through these videos at home," the brunette decided. "Call me if you find anything."

"Sure. But try to get some sleep, too," Korsak urged her. "You still look kinda sick and tired…"

"Your honesty is flattering…," Jane grimaced and waved him off.

After the sergeant had left, Jane plopped down on Maura's office sofa and continued to study the professor's books — a brief history of morality and ethics, an overview of utilitarianism, an introduction to the different ethical dilemmas, and a more accessible explanation of the trolley problem for general readers titled _Would You Kill the Fat Man?_ Intrigued — and slightly amused — by the title, the detective leaned back and began to read while waiting for the medical examiner to finish her autopsy.

Almost an hour later, Jane was more lying than sitting, the book still clutched in her hand, when clanking noises from the autopsy room next door jolted her out of her drowsiness. Suppressing a yawn, the brunette heaved herself up and teetered into the other room, where Maura had begun to clean up.

"You done?" Jane murmured sleepily just as the doctor paused to blow her nose again.

"Yes, I just need to put a few things away," Maura confirmed into her tissue.

"Are you kidding me?" the detective frowned. "You're the Chief Medical Examiner — what do you think your assistants are for?"

"What? No, I can't let others clean up after me…," the blonde protested.

"Sure you can," Jane smirked. "It's called teamwork."

Before Maura could object, Jane had already spotted one of the aforementioned assistants through the door to the crime lab and dashed out of the room. "Hey!" she tapped the young man's shoulder. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Uh, no…," the assistant stuttered, intimidated by the detective's demanding stare. "Not… not really…"

"Great!" Jane's face lightened up. Gotcha! "Then you already know exactly where everything belongs." Without giving the poor guy a chance to escape, she put her arm around his shoulder and dragged him into the autopsy room. "Doctor Isles and I have to leave for an urgent case. Would you be so kind and get this place cleaned up?"

Confused and not quite sure about the nature of his situation, the young man looked at Maura for help. When the medical examiner simply nodded, hiding her embarrassed smile behind her tissue and praying that she wouldn't get hives, her assistant accepted his fate and shrugged. "Uh… okay."

"Thank you," Jane grinned like a Cheshire cat. "And don't forget to polish the silverware. Doctor Isles likes her knives all clean and shiny." Before Maura could protest and apologize to her flabbergasted assistant, the detective already dragged her away. "Come on, we have to go."

"That wasn't very polite…," Maura whispered as she was being shoved into her office next door.

Impatiently, Jane rolled her eyes and checked her watch. "Just get your stuff or I'm gonna be impolite to you, too…"

…

…

Three hours later, Maura was comfortably snoozing on her couch, tucked into a blanket and her head buried between cushions, whereas Jane was rather uncomfortably squeezed into the opposite corner of the couch and involuntarily held in place by the medical examiner's feet on her lap. One of Professor Howell's lecture videos was playing on the TV via the USB key he had delivered earlier at BPD, but even though the subject matter was quite fascinating, it wasn't enough to stop the detective's eyes from repeatedly glancing at the blonde next to her. As usual, the sight of Maura sleeping was peaceful and assuring, like Jane's own personal mantra to calm her down at the end of a long day. But it inevitably triggered the same doubts that had forced her to retreat back into her own shell so often before. And as she was absentmindedly massaging the doctor's feet to alleviate the influenza symptoms, Jane wondered what it would take to finally silence all the demons haunting her at night and sometimes during the day. How could she ever let someone into her life again without that constant fear of everything falling apart? Did she have the right to impose all her baggage on somebody else, just like that? And what if the risk was higher than the reward?

Frustrated, Jane let her head sink back and tried to focus on Howell's lecture. With limited success…

"Why did you stop?" Maura suddenly murmured into her cushions.

"Huh?" the detective frowned in confusion.

The doctor sleepily blinked and nodded at her feet that had been spoiled by Jane's hands until a few moments ago. "It's the least you could do after you gave me your stupid germs…"

"What? No, I didn't _give_ them to you," Jane objected but dutifully resumed her massage. "_You_ came to my place and were practically _begging_ my germs to jump all over you…"

"Well, only because you're completely helpless and whiny when you're sick," Maura declared teasingly.

"No, I'm not," the detective pouted. "And may I suggest you choose your words more carefully as long as your feet are in my hands…?"

The blonde raised her eyebrow. "Why? I'm not ticklish."

"Sure, you are."

"And how would you know?"

"I'm a detective. I _detect_ things."

"You're bluffing."

"Don't tempt me," Jane smirked as she continued to let her hands wander over the blonde's feet.

Hoping to be able to enjoy that special treatment a little longer, Maura opted to change the subject and reached for her tea from the couch table instead. "What about these videos? Did you _detect _anything in there?"

"Not really. But I'm getting an idea where our killers are going with this."

"And where's that?"

"Well, the basic setup is always the same, but they seem to be playing through certain variations," Jane explained. "First, we had a bad guy and a bomb. Then we had a good guy and a bomb. But in both cases, the candidates didn't have to kill our victims themselves."

"And then they changed that…," Maura nodded.

"Exactly," the detective agreed. "Next, there was our homeless veteran and a bomb. And this time, the candidate had to kill that man himself, so the focus switched from good versus bad to actively killing someone versus passively letting someone die… After that, they changed the killing method."

"Hmm…," the doctor tilted her head. "And they also eliminated the bomb and introduced that poor young woman instead."

"Right… I think they wanted to make it more personal…," Jane mused. "And also focus more on the conscious act of killing… Shooting someone from just a few feet away is even more brutal than kicking away a chair under some guy with a noose around his neck… Maybe they wanted to test if good versus bad becomes irrelevant as soon as you have to use an actual weapon and look your victim straight in the eye… Maybe some people would find it harder to fire five shots and kill five people than to fire just one shot, even if they'd have to kill an innocent person…"

Maura put her mug back on the table and sank into the cushions. "So, what do you think they'll do next?"

"Something even more personal…," the brunette suggested, trying to make sense of the incomplete puzzle in her head. "In the first scenarios, there was no real connection between the victims and the candidates. But now, it's different. The candidates are actively involved in the killing. And in that last scenario, all six potential victims were in the same room with the candidate. He had to decide over the lives of _actual people_… It wasn't just about an abstract bomb somewhere… know what I mean?"

The doctor nodded and contemplated the implications. "Maybe in the next scenario, they'll use people who are related… people who know each other…"

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking…"

"What would you do?" Maura asked, earning her a questioning look from the other woman. "In the trolley scenario with the five workers and the one, for example — would you pull the lever?"

"Like I said," Jane shrugged, "I'd yell at them to move their asses off those tracks."

"They won't hear you," the blonde pointed out. "You're too far away."

"Come on, you've heard me yell before," the brunette grinned. "They _will_ hear me."

But Maura wasn't willing to let her get away that easily. "I'm serious… What would you do?"

Sensing that she wouldn't get out of this one, Jane leaned back and pondered the question. "I guess… yes, I would pull the lever. If they're all workers, and if they're on those tracks of their own accord… Ultimately, it's five versus one."

"What if that one person on the other tracks isn't a worker?" The medical examiner's inquisitive mind was fully awake now. "What if it's just a random bystander?"

The brunette uncomfortably squirmed in her corner of the couch. "Don't you want to go to bed or something?"

"No," Maura smiled, clearly enjoying her little interrogation.

"Well, fine…," Jane gave in. "I think… if the rest of the scenario is still the same, I'd have to pull the lever again. I mean, sucks for that bystander, but I'm a cop… I'm expected to save and protect as many people as possible."

"Hmm… and what if that one person is someone you know?" The doctor's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Let's say it's me."

"Nah, it wouldn't be you."

"Why not?"

"You're too smart to be standing around on some stupid tracks."

Maura heaved a sigh. "Can't you be serious for one minute?"

"I _am_ serious," Jane exclaimed. "And I happen to think you _are_ smart."

"Fine," the blonde changed her strategy. "Then let's assume there's a crime scene on those tracks, and I'm examining it."

The detective rolled her eyes in annoyance. "There's gonna be a crime scene right here on your couch if you don't stop asking these questions!"

Unable to get a straight answer from the other woman, Maura pursed her lips and pondered the issue herself. "Well, judging by your own logic, you'd have to pull the lever."

"No, I wouldn't!"

"Yes, you would. It's still five versus one."

"But it's not just some random bystander," Jane argued. "It's you."

"So?" Maura raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Why would my life be more valuable just because we're acquainted?"

"I think we're a little more than _acquainted_," the brunette murmured sullenly.

"That doesn't answer my question," the doctor noted. "You just said that as a cop you'd have to save as many people as possible."

"I wouldn't be a cop in this case."

"What? You'd—?"

"I would be your best friend, and as such, I wouldn't pull that lever," Jane declared. "And I don't care if it's five people or one hundred or if all of Boston is having a frickin tea party on those stupid tracks — I'd always save you."

"Hmm…," Maura sank back into her cushions, blushing at Jane's unexpected honesty but still not quite convinced. "I don't think it's that easy…"

"Sure, it is," the detective grunted. "Now, drink your damn tea." When Maura followed her orders and sipped her tea with a shy smile, the blonde's last words echoed through Jane's head again and she frowned. "Wait, why isn't it easy? Are you saying you wouldn't do the same?"

"Well, no, but—"

"But what? You'd let that trolley sweep me off those tracks?"

Now, it was Maura's turn to squirm in search for an answer. "I'm just saying it wouldn't be easy. I know you, Jane — you'd rather sacrifice yourself than let those other people die, and—"

"Oh, no, no, don't pass the buck back to me," Jane objected. "Now, I wanna know what _you_ would do."

"I don't know," the doctor hesitated. "I guess, I would have to consider all direct and indirect consequences and—"

"Okay, that's it. You're asking for it!" Without further warning, Jane grabbed Maura's ankles and tickled her feet. "I told you to choose your words carefully…"

"Jane, no!" the blonde giggled, attempting to escape the other woman's grip. "Please, stop it!"

"Well, look who's _not ticklish_ now," the detective laughed.

"Jaaane…," Maura whined as she tried to snatch at Jane's arm.

Still holding the blonde's ankles tight with one hand and keeping her other hand threateningly close to Maura's soles, Jane smirked at the doctor. "Still wanna pull that lever?"

"I never said I _want_ to pull it…"

"But you _would_…?"

Exhausted both from her struggle and from her flu, Maura rested her head on the back of the couch. "No, probably not…," she sighed and sealed it with a sneeze.

"Hey, don't play the sickness card now! That's not fair…," Jane pouted and finally let go off Maura's feet to give her a fresh tissue from the box on the table. "Well… let's just agree to avoid all trolleys and tracks from now on, okay…?"

"Okay," the blonde chuckled into her tissue, then reached for the remote and switched to the next video lecture. Wrapping herself into her blanket — and making sure her feet were out of the detective's reach —, Maura snuggled up against Jane's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" the brunette asked in feigned protest. "You're gonna fall asleep on me, and I'll be stuck here all night."

The doctor let out a content hum and pulled a corner of her blanket over Jane's lap. "I won't fall asleep on you because you're unable to sit still for more than ten minutes."

"Not true…," Jane murmured with a smile as she took in the scent and warmth of the other woman.

But Maura had already begun to doze off and it didn't even take ten minutes until she had fallen asleep on the detective's shoulder. And for the next few hours, Jane simply sat still.

…

…


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **__As always, thanks for the reviews. Much appreciated! And I'm glad you're somewhat thinking about what you'd do in such scenarios… That's the whole point of this story. :-) And in case you ever run out of fanfics to read (unlikely, I know), that book mentioned in the previous chapter ("Would You Kill the Fat Man?") actually exists...  
Now, I wonder if we can get to 100 followers… Can we? Can we?_

* * *

…

**Chapter 9**

_**April 5, 2014**_

"I told you I would always save you, Maura." Jane is still crouched against the metal bars, fighting the inevitable.

"Yes, in some hypothetical scenario," Maura admits. "But this is real, Jane. And we're running out of time. We have to face it."

"Maybe there is no bomb this time," the brunette suggests unconvincingly. "I mean, there's security in Fenway. Maybe he's bluffing."

The blonde bites her lip, wishing that she could just deny the harsh truth. But she can't. "He hasn't been bluffing before…"

And slowly but surely, Jane can't deny it anymore either. With just five minutes remaining on the timer, a decision will have to be made. She drags herself up, turns her back to Maura, runs her hands through her hair again. This isn't how it's supposed to end. This isn't right.

"Please, talk to me," Maura begs, anxiously glancing at the timer. "I can't do this alone."

The detective hesitates, crosses her arms. She doesn't want to do this. No one can expect her to do this. She finally turns around and looks at the blonde in the cell. "You're asking too much, Maura."

Maura holds her gaze. It's the only thing that she has left to cling on to. "I'm only asking because I know you're strong enough to do this."

Jane shakes her head. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You are the strongest person I know, Jane." The thought helps the doctor find the strength she needs herself now. "And somewhere deep inside, you know that you have to do this."

"It's not fair," the detective whispers.

"No, it's not." Maura's eyes fall on the timer again. Four minutes. Four minutes to save all these lives but her own. Four minutes with Jane. "But we can't let him trigger this bomb. This isn't just a factory or a restaurant or a mall."

Jane clutches the bars again, getting as close to the blonde as she can.

"It's Fenway Park, Jane," Maura continues, her voice trembling. "It's… it's the heart of the city. It's about traditions and… and family and everything this city stands for. It's about believing in something, even if it takes 86 years to come true."

"A few days ago, you didn't even know about the Curse of the Bambino," the brunette objects weakly.

"No, but I looked it up when you mentioned it," Maura admits. And the memory of their evening together on Red Sox Opening Day confirms her decision. This is as far as their relationship is destined to go. She can't risk innocent lives in hopes for a commitment from Jane that will never come. "And I don't need to know every detail about the curse to understand how much this ballpark means to people. I just need to listen to you. You said it's the one place in the city where nothing else matters… Where you can forget about everything and just enjoy the game."

Jane's eyes fill with tears. She remembers these words and she remembers the day when she used them to explain the magic of baseball to Maura.

"Now think about what a bomb in that ballpark would do to the city, what it would do to you." And suddenly, Maura's doubt is gone. She knows she's doing the right thing. "Nothing would ever be the same, Jane. It would break people's hearts. People love Fenway Park… _You_ love Fenway Park."

Jane swallows hard. "Yeah… but I love you more."

…

…

_**April 4 - One Day Earlier**_

As the late morning sun of that first Friday of April dipped the medical examiner's great room into a golden glow, Jane was lying prone on Maura's couch, one arm and one leg dangling over the edge and her face buried into the cushions until her instincts finally awoke and urged her body to do the same. Drowsily, she reached for her cell phone on the table, blinked at the time on its display, and raised her head in confusion.

"Maura?"

When there was no answer, she rolled off the couch, ruffled her hair and let out a yawn, and trudged towards the stairs. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she dragged herself upstairs and softly knocked on the doctor's half-open bedroom door. Still waiting in vain for an answer, she peeked inside and frowned at the sight of the unused bed.

"Maura?"

And finally, there was an answer in the form of a tired "Uh huh…" coming from the adjacent bathroom.

Hesitant at first, Jane entered the bedroom and padded towards the open bathroom door, but when she spotted Maura on the floor, panic gripped her heart and she rushed inside.

"What the hell? Maura, are you alright?" she gasped but then stopped dead in her tracks and fully conceived the scene. The doctor wasn't exactly lying on the floor — that is, her back was, but her legs were up a wall in what appeared to be a yoga position.

"I'm fine," Maura murmured as she squinted at the woman standing over her.

"Then why are you cuddling with your bathroom floor?" Jane asked with concern and crouched down next to the blonde.

"_Viparita karani _— it helps relieve nausea," the doctor explained.

The detective raised her eyebrow. "So, you're not fine? You're nauseous?"

"No… well, yes…," Maura stammered. "I mean I _was_, but I'm not anymore… I think…"

Shaking her head in confusion, Jane lay down next to the other woman and put her legs up the wall as well.

"What are you doing?" the doctor glanced at her from the side.

"Your stammering is making me nauseous," the detective quipped and got a soft punch in her arm from Maura in response. After a few moments of silent staring at the ceiling above, Jane turned to Maura. "You know what else would make you feel better?"

"What?" the blonde curiously looked at Jane.

"Sleeping in your damn bed!" the brunette exclaimed and got up again.

"Well, it's too late now," Maura declared as Jane helped her up. "We have to get to work."

The detective resolutely shook her head. "You're not going anywhere."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine," the medical examiner objected but then squinted and supported herself against the sink as all color left her face.

"Yeah, right," Jane grunted. "Then why do you look like a ghost after a 24-hour ride on Space Mountain?"

"That's perfectly normal," the doctor declared. "Changing from a recumbent into an orthostatic position causes a decrease in systolic and diastolic blood pressure, which results in an insufficient blood perfusion in the upper part of the body." After a deep breath, Maura relaxed, mustered her most convincing smile, and shoved Jane out of the bathroom. "Let's go."

The detective worriedly glanced over her shoulder. "Well, just so you know, if you pass out at work, I won't catch you when you fall."

"Of course, you will," Maura smiled.

"I will not," Jane pouted.

Just as they were leaving the bedroom, Maura froze in the door frame. "Uh oh…"

Jane turned around. "What?"

Without any answer, the blonde rushed back into the bathroom. Seconds later, the sound of half-digested food being hurled into the toilet removed any doubts about Maura's condition. Trying to suppress her _I told you so _face, Jane grimaced and trudged into the other room.

"So, how's that yoga thing working for you?" the detective teased with a sympathetic smile as she held back the doctor's hair until her stomach had nothing left to offer.

Too shaken for a response, Maura flushed, let out a sigh of exhaustion, and leaned against the wall in her back.

Keeping her worried eyes on the blonde, Jane reached for a cloth from a hook next to the sink, moistened it, and handed it to Maura. "You still want to go to work…?"

The doctor weakly shook her head and buried her face in the cloth.

While the detective was still studying the other woman with concern, the buzzing of her phone suddenly broke the silence and she glanced at its display before taking the call. "Hey, Korsak, what's up?" An instant later, her face darkened. "What?! Sh… Yeah, okay, text me the address, alright? I'm on my way…" With that, she hung up and frowned at Maura. "Looks like we got an explosion this time…"

Aware of the implications for their case, the medical examiner nodded faintly. "Go… I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'll lie down and just _sleep in my damn bed _for a while."

Jane chuckled and caringly pecked the blonde on her forehead before getting up. "Okay, but I'll try to stop by for lunch."

As soon as the detective had left, Maura sighed and buried her face in her cloth again.

…

…

Twenty minutes later, Jane stopped her sedan in front of their newest crime scene in a middle-class Dorchester neighborhood — a two-story family home that was now partially burned down and marked by a huge hole in one of its outside walls. Firetrucks were blocking the street, a bomb squad van was parked in the middle of the driveway, CSRU techs were scurrying back and forth, and anxious neighbors across the street were curiously watching from behind their still shiny white picket fences and the yellow tape.

Jane let her eyes wander over the scene until she spotted Korsak near the charred front porch.

"Hey, where's Doctor Isles?" her partner greeted her.

"Sick… That new guy from Holyoke will fill in. He's already on his way…," the detective explained, then focused her attention on the house. "What happened?"

"Family of four. The Millers. A neighbor saw them gathered in the kitchen for breakfast when the bomb went off," Korsak shook his head in disgust. "Ripped the whole room apart — no chance of survival for any of them."

Clenching her fists in frustration, Jane noticed a middle-aged woman leaning against the back of an ambulance and crying in shock. "Is that the neighbor?"

"Yeah," the sergeant nodded. "Bomb squad already recovered parts of the bomb near the kitchen window. Same type as the previous three bombs." Korsak led her around the house towards the exploded kitchen.

Fighting back the demons that had been haunting her ever since that fateful Brookline explosion five months ago, Jane peeked into the ruins of the Millers' kitchen and gasped in shock at the sight of their charred bodies on the floor. "Damn it!" she averted her eyes and swallowed hard.

Painfully aware of the roots of Jane's anger, Korsak decided to keep her detective senses busy. "The house didn't have any alarm, so they could've simply come in through the window and planted the bomb at night…"

Unfortunately, the sergeant's strategy wasn't as effective as he had hoped and Jane furiously kicked a piece of charred rubbish into the hedge.

It wasn't the first time that Korsak was confronted with such an outburst, and almost routinely, he grabbed Jane's arm and forced her to look at him. "Jane, it's only been four days and these sickos aren't exactly predictable. We got officers at all crime scenes looking for witnesses. The crime lab has been putting in extra hours, too… We're doing everything we can."

The brunette shook her head. "Are we?"

"There's no way we could've prevented this," the sergeant insisted.

Desperate for a break in their case, Jane finally took a deep breath and held her partner's gaze. "We have to find that damn room where they're holding them…"

Korsak nodded. "Yes… and we will."

…

…

Hours later, everybody at BPD was frantically working the case in an attempt to prevent more deaths and another explosion.

In the morgue, the four charred bodies of the Millers were being examined by Maura's colleague from Holyoke — a routine procedure since their neighbor had witnessed everything and there wasn't any surprising result to be expected from the autopsy.

On another floor at BPD, bomb squad experts were busy analyzing the remains of the bomb, recreating the whole scenario, and comparing the explosive material and its design to system records to determine whether the perpetrators might have had help from other known bomb afficionados.

In the crime lab, every available technician was fully focused on examining the clothes of the victims, the evidence from the different crime scenes, and the bomb threat notes the killers had left behind. Maybe a finger print or DNA had been overlooked, or maybe the type of computer or printer used for the notes would lead them to a specific print shop — it wouldn't be the first time that such peculiar clues would help solve a crime.

And upstairs, in the BRIC, Jane and Korsak were glued to their seats and going through all their evidence again, hoping to find something — anything — that would lead them to the mysterious location where their philosophy killers were subjecting their victims to these gruesome moral dilemmas. A whiteboard next to their desks held photos of victims, candidates, and other details, whereas the large screens on the wall were filled with surveillance videos from traffic cameras and webcams in the proximity of their crime scenes.

They still didn't know the identity of their second candidate, the one who had been forced to decide between the bomb at Luigi's and Oliver Schultz, the sports retailer whose body had been found behind the airport motel. Maybe that second candidate was still hiding, afraid to be held responsible. Or maybe he — or she — had violated some of the killers' rules and paid the ultimate price for such disobedience.

As Jane was studying the names and photos of their victims again, she paused at the sight of the five dead men from the fourth scenario. "Do we have anybody on the alumni list who's working in a prison or at the Department of Corrections? Or maybe as a probation officer?"

Korsak curiously looked up from the file in front of him. "Because of all those felons?"

"Yeah," Jane nodded. "We got six of them already. Our killers obviously know where to find them and what they've been convicted for."

"Could also be their lawyer though," the sergeant mused.

The detective shook her head. "I've already checked. They were all represented by different offices, different lawyers, in different years…"

"Okay, I'll go through our alumni list as soon as I'm done here," Korsak decided.

For another minute or so, Jane leaned back and played through different possibilities in her mind, then uneasily peeked at Korsak. "You think that, after a few years, a successful career at Harvard might be boring enough to turn someone into a serial killer?"

The sergeant frowned and put away his file. "You mean Howell?"

"I can't say I haven't considered it…," the brunette shrugged. "I've had an officer check his schedule and keep an eye on him… Looks like he's minding his daily business though."

"But if he has a partner…" Korsak rubbed his tired eyes, got up, and stretched his legs.

"I guess I'll pay him another visit…" Jane checked her cell phone and got up, too. "Maura's not answering her phone, so I'm just gonna make a quick stop at her place first…"

"Alright," the sergeant nodded. "I'll grab a coffee downstairs at the Café."

"Uh, but don't tell my mother that Maura's sick at home!" Jane warned him. "She'd be hovering all over the place and spoonfeed Maura some weird medieval family recipes…"

"Okay," Korsak chuckled and strolled out of the BRIC. "I'll see you later."

…

…

Shortly thereafter, Jane got out of her sedan in Maura's driveway and rushed to the front door, spare key in one hand and a large Thermos mug of take-out soup in the other. Once inside, when there was no sign of the medical examiner in her great room, the detective snatched a spoon from the kitchen counter and headed for the stairs but then stopped halfway at the sight of Maura's cell phone plugged into a charger on the table behind the couch. As Jane realized why she hadn't been able to reach the blonde, she let out an annoyed groan, grabbed both the phone and the charger, and hurried upstairs.

However, her momentary frustration instantly ebbed away as she spotted Maura sound asleep in her bed, wrapped into two blankets and unaware of her lunchtime visitor. For a moment, Jane paused in the door frame and added the peaceful scenery to the many pictures of Maura already stored in her mind, then she tiptoed to the bed, crouched down, and gently brushed the doctor's arm.

"Hey, Maura…," she whispered and waited for the blonde to wake up. "Brought you some soup from that place you like…"

"Hmm… thank you…," Maura murmured drowsily.

Trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the sight of the sleepy doctor, Jane nudged the other woman's arm. "And how about you check your phone every once in a while?"

"What…?" Sensing the irritation in the detective's voice, Maura propped herself up on her elbow and checked her nightstand in an attempt to locate said phone.

"And don't tell me it's broken again, because it's not," the brunette grumbled.

"How do you—?"

Jane tossed the phone along with its charger onto the bed. "Found it downstairs…"

"Sorry…," Maura sighed and sank back down. "I probably wouldn't have heard it anyway. I fell asleep right after you left."

"Well, I was worried…," the detective pouted playfully and let her fingers brush over Maura's hand. "Are you at least feeling better?"

"Yes…," the blonde nodded into her pillow as her fingers linked with Jane's.

For a little while, silence filled the room as Jane kept playing with the doctor's hand, instinctively and almost unaware of her own actions, until Maura's eyes fell on their perfectly entwined fingers. And she knew they couldn't continue this dance forever. "We'll have to talk about it at some point…," Maura whispered.

Without letting go off the doctor's fingers, Jane nodded weakly. "After this case…"

Maura pulled her hand closer to her face, forcing the brunette to look at her. "Promise?"

As their eyes locked and their hands became one, Jane nodded again, this time more determined. "Promise."

"Okay… Go catch some bad guys," the blonde smiled encouragingly. "I'll be right here when you get back."

Hesitantly, the detective got up and squeezed the doctor's hand one last time. When Maura snuggled into her blankets again and closed her eyes, Jane finally trudged out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the house.

Once she had locked the front door from outside, she rested her head against the frame and closed her eyes, yearning to just ignore her damn case and to rush back inside, to crawl under Maura's blanket and to keep her warm until her flu would subside. But it wasn't that easy. And the longer she thought about it, the less certain she was about the doctor's stance. Why had Maura hesitated at that damn trolley question? Would she seriously consider sacrificing someone she loved to save complete strangers?

So maybe it wasn't love after all...?

Before Jane's thoughts could get on another ride on that never-ending roller coaster in her mind, her cell phone buzzed and Sergeant Korsak's name blinked on its display.

"Yes…," the brunette sighed into her phone but then straightened up at her partner's voice. "Okay… I'm on my way."

After one last glance at Maura's house, Jane rushed back to her car to return to BPD, where the man who had triggered the bomb in the Millers' home had just turned himself in.

…

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	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:**__ This one's a bit shorter, but it didn't fit into the previous or next chapter, so it'll have to stand on its own. Time to tie up some of those loose ends anyway. Next chapter might take until Sunday because of visitors who apparently would consider it rude of me to hide behind my computer instead of spending time with them. Meh. But to keep you busy until then - start thinking about what Jane will do or should do or what you would do in her situation, because that decision is coming up soon.  
And thanks for the reviews – they're fabulotastic!_

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**Chapter 10**

_**April 4 – One Day Earlier (continued)**_

Half an hour later, Jane was back at headquarters and rushing to the interview room in which Korsak was already in the middle of his conversation with the latest participant in their killers' philosophical scheme.

As Jane stepped into the adjacent observation room and looked through the one-way mirror, she raised her eyebrows in surprise at the sight of a young couple sitting at the table opposite Sergeant Korsak. They were both in their mid-twenties, dressed in Harvard apparel, and could have been mistaken as models from a matchmaking agency ad — if it hadn't been for the woman's bloodshot eyes and the man's slightly disheveled appearance.

While still studying the couple's moves and gestures, Jane whipped out her cell phone and sent the sergeant a text to notify him of her presence. Seconds later, Korsak reached for his own cell, glanced at its display, and politely excused himself to leave the interview room.

"Hey…," Jane greeted him as he entered the observation room a moment later. "What's going on?"

"We might have something," Korsak smiled as he stepped next to her and watched the young couple through the mirror. "The scenario this time is almost an exact copy of a scenario that was discussed in Howell's class two years ago."

"What?!" Jane eagerly reached for her cell phone. "Then let's get our professor back here right now!"

"Slow down," the sergeant held her back. "I've already sent for him, but he's still in a lecture and will be giving a keynote speech at some faculty event this evening."

"Yeah, so what?" the brunette impatiently glared at her partner.

"He's not a formal suspect yet, Jane, so we can't just storm in there and drag him off," Korsak explained calmly. "Besides, if he _is_ involved in this, he doesn't need to know that we've put him in the crosshairs. Plus, we have to figure out whether or not he has a partner and who that is. Maybe they've already kidnapped their next victims, and maybe they'll lead us to their hiding place. We can't risk scaring them off."

Jane nervously ran her hand through her hair but then took a deep breath. She knew that the sergeant was right. "Alright, fine. So, what exactly happened?"

"Well, looks like you were right," Korsak replied. "The game's getting more personal now. They're married… David and Julie Olson. He's a researcher at Harvard Law School, she's a post-doc fellow in Political Science." He paused as the two academics in the interview room embraced and consoled each other. "She was on her way home last night when someone in a Harvard sweater attacked her in the dark. And he was doing his evening run when another runner slowed down in front of him to tie his shoes, and when David passed him, the other guy tackled him from behind. When they woke up, she was in a tiny chamber with a glass wall, and he was in another room with our guy in the hazmat suit. He told Olson that he could either watch his wife die or break the glass to save her and kill four innocent people instead."

"And he chose her…," the brunette murmured.

"Yeah," the sergeant confirmed. "Some gas was being blown into that chamber… probably carbon monoxide. A clock showed how much time was left. And there was a monitor with a live feed from the Millers' kitchen."

Jane frowned at the thought of Olson's dilemma. "So he would see the people he'd kill…"

"Olson waited until the last minute, trying to find another way out," Korsak continued. "But looks like our killers thought of everything. So, he broke the glass and saved his wife. He just couldn't let her die."

"Can't blame him…," the brunette sighed. "And how exactly does this tie in with Howell's class?"

"David Olson audited some of Howell's lectures and discussion sections," Korsak explained. "He wasn't formally enrolled, but one of his roommates was, so Olson joined him a couple of times when he was waiting for him to give him a ride home."

"And Howell presented that same scenario, with the gas chamber and all?" Jane wondered.

"Actually, no," the sergeant shook his head. "It wasn't part of the regular lectures, but a teaching assistant brought it up in one of the discussion sections. And here's the good news: Olson is pretty sure that this scenario wasn't taken from any of the textbooks. That TA must have come up with it himself… or under Howell's guidance…"

The brunette's face lit up with new hope. "Okay, so, that reduces our list of main suspects to Howell and everybody who attended this discussion section."

"If we're lucky, yes," Korsak said. "Olson doesn't remember the name of the TA though, so we have to wait for Howell."

Jane nervously paced the room. "Can't we just call someone at his office? Have them check the system or something?"

"Jane, it's Friday afternoon… and the Sox are playing their home opener right now," the sergeant sighed. "Haven't been able to reach anybody."

"Okay, I'm…," the detective paused, thinking about how to best keep her mind busy during the waiting. "I'm gonna go through the student and faculty listings we already have. Just let me know as soon as Howell gets here."

Before Korsak had a chance to nod in agreement, Jane had already stormed out of the room, her mind frantically putting these new puzzle pieces into place.

…

…

Four seemingly endless hours later, Marvin Howell finally arrived at BPD, where Jane and Korsak promptly led him into one of the conference rooms. Even though they didn't treat him like a suspect, there was no reason to waste time with unnecessary small-talk.

"Would you care to explain why the latest scenario in our case is identical to one discussed in your class, Professor?" Jane instantly cut to the chase as soon as they had sat down.

Without batting an eyelash, the professor looked his two interrogators straight into the eye. "What do you mean, Detective?"

Though the brunette seemed to keep her cool, her voice gave away the anger boiling in her veins. "_I mean_ that we have two witnesses sitting next door who have been subjected to a moral dilemma that one of your teaching assistants presented in class."

"What?! Who?" The professor frowned in surprise.

"You tell us," Korsak snorted.

Howell hesitatingly reached for his briefcase to get out his laptop. "I'm… I… Are you saying one of my TAs is your killer?"

"Which TA led your Tuesday discussion sections two years ago?" Jane inquired calmly.

"My TAs are some of the brightest and most accomplished students on campus," the professor asserted while browsing through the files on his computer. "I can assure you they wouldn't commit any of these horrible acts you have described."

"Maybe not…," Jane admitted. "But we'd like to double-check anyway."

"Well…," Howell found the file he had been looking for. "The Tuesday sections two years ago were led by Timothy Turner, but he—"

Before the professor could finish his sentence, Korsak got up, nodded at Jane, and hurried out of the room to get a BOLO out.

Faced with the brunette's piercing stare, Howell uneasily wiggled on his chair. "I'm serious, Detective. My TAs are outstanding students with a very promising future. They wouldn't do anything like that."

"Do you tell your TAs what to cover in these discussion sections?" Jane asked, observing every itch and gesture of the professor.

The interviewee shook his head. "No. All TAs are already well advanced in their studies and perfectly capable of leading their discussion sections without my constant supervision." When the detective didn't take her eyes off him, Howell furrowed his brow in suspicion. "Am I a suspect now, too?"

"Let's just say we'd like you to keep in touch…," Jane stated dryly.

"I see," the professor murmured to himself, dropping his polite smile. He shut down his computer, put it back into his briefcase, and locked it with a loud snap. "Well, unless you're going to arrest me, I'd like to go home now. We have an important faculty meeting tomorrow."

The brunette got up and studied him from head to toe. "Maybe it's time you got a little more involved in your discussion sections…"

Shaking his head in disdain, Howell grabbed his briefcase and marched out of the room.

As Jane was about to follow him outside, her phone rang, and her mood instantly changed for the better at the sight of the name on its display. "Hey, Maura, how's the war with the germs going?" For a few moments, she paused in the door frame and let the voice of the woman at the other end of the line distract her from her case. "Nah, looks like we're gonna have a long night… No, no, don't wait up for me… How about breakfast?" After another brief pause, she smiled. "Okay… Get some rest… Night."

Feeling much more at ease after the call, Jane rushed out of the conference room to find Korsak. Her mind already focused on the TA and on their possible break in the case, she didn't pay any attention to Howell still waiting near the elevator doors. The professor, however, was very much paying attention to her.

…

…

When the darkness of the night had already descended upon the city of Boston and the Red Sox had long won their home opener at Fenway Park, Maura was standing at her kitchen counter, dressed in a warm woolen pullover and her yoga pants, and slowly getting the upper hand in her battle against those obnoxious influenza viruses. Several more hours of sleep, a long hot bath, and her favorite soup that Jane had brought her had clearly been conducive to her recuperation. Except for her stuffed nose and her hoarse voice, she was actually beginning to feel like herself again.

Absentmindedly, she sipped at a bottle of grape juice while preparing a cup of green tea and sneaking repeated glances at her cell phone on the counter in hopes of another cheery text from Jane. When the phone remained silent, she pursed her lips and reached for the device to double-check her messages — only to realize that the battery status bar was once again almost as empty as her inbox. Silently cursing at her phone's defectiveness and hoping that its replacement would arrive soon, she let her eyes wander over the kitchen counter and couch table until she remembered that the charger was still upstairs. But before she could get it, a hesitant knock at the front door jolted her out of her thoughts.

Secretly wishing that Jane had gotten out of work early, Maura padded to the door but let out a silent sigh of disappointment as she recognized her guest through the door's viewing panel.

"Professor Howell…," she greeted the man waiting outside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late," Howell smiled politely. "But I have a few more videos and lecture materials. I couldn't reach Detective Rizzoli at the station, so I thought you might want to take a look…"

"Actually, I'm on sick leave," the blonde informed him, unsure what to make of his unannounced visit.

"Yes, I know," the professor stated calmly as he set down his briefcase on the doorstep.

Suddenly, Maura frowned in suspicion. "Wait, how do you know I'm—"

She didn't have enough time to finish her sentence.

Within the blink of an eye, Howell leaped forward, rammed the heel of his hand into Maura's throat, and pushed her into the house.

Gasping for air from his powerful blow, the blonde dropped her juice bottle and stumbled backwards… without balance, without defense, without a chance to escape.

And Howell seized his moment of surprise. With no holds barred, he smashed her against the cabinet and the wall — once, twice — and slammed his fist into her chest.

Out of breath, Maura sank to the floor, blindly clutching at her attacker's legs — an instinctive attempt to fend him off. But in vain.

In another swift move, the professor threw her onto her stomach, yanked her left arm to her back, and sat on top of her, pressing his knee into her pelvis.

Moaning in pain at her almost dislocated shoulder, Maura struggled and squirmed. But Howell's grip was too tight.

"Easy, Doctor Isles…," he sneered as he warningly twisted her arm further before fishing something out of his jacket's inner pocket with his free hand.

Unable to scream under the weight of the man sitting on her back, Maura gasped again and tried to break free. To no avail.

"You know I won't kill you…," Howell hissed as he revealed a syringe, pulled off its needle sheath with his teeth, then jabbed the needle into Maura's neck. "But maybe someone else will…"

"You won't… get away… with…," Maura stammered, struggling with her last ounce of strength until the professor's sedative took effect and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Sweet dreams," Howell whispered deviously.

Just as the blonde's resistance had faded away and the professor got up, a dark-haired young man in a Harvard sweater appeared at the front door.

"I told you to stay in the car!" Howell griped as he spotted his aide.

"I heard the noise…," the other man said. "Thought you need help."

"Well, now that you're here…," the professor pointed at Maura's motionless body on the floor. "Get her in the car."

As his accomplice dragged her away, Howell took a relaxed breath and let his eyes wander over the great room, whistling in admiration of Maura's interior design. Too bad she might not be able to ever enjoy it again.

…

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	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N:**__ Alrighty, bonus points for those of you who had already figured out the motive. Of course, similarities with real persons or events are purely intent- uh, coincidental. Sorry, Prof. Sandel. :-D And I'm almost a little afraid to post the next chapter after that… oh, the pressure… You sure you want to read on? :-o_

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**Chapter 11**

_**April 5, 2014 — Hours Earlier**_

In the very early hours of this Saturday morning, Timothy Turner was finally pushed down onto a chair in Interview Room #3 at BPD.

Jane, Korsak, and a dozen patrol officers had been trying all evening to locate the young man, but after the Red Sox home opener in the afternoon, he and his friends had opted for a night of booze and barhopping with their phones turned off and their whereabouts unknown. Only when Turner had arrived back at his dorm at 2 a.m., reeling and smelling of too much Tequila, had the patrol waiting at the gates been able to pick him up and bring him straight to headquarters. But given that he had been totally sloshed, it had taken several more hours, a bucket of cold water, and lots of patience until he was reasonably ready to be interviewed.

And thus, it was close to 6 a.m. when an officer stood guard in the corner of the interview room and Jane and Korsak eventually took their seats opposite a still not quite sober Timothy Turner in his Red Sox gear, which made him look more like a street kid from Southie than an affluent grad student from Harvard.

"Mr. Turner…," Jane tried to get the red-haired man's attention as he was leaning against the table, head held up by his arms, face buried in his hands.

Annoyed, Korsak pushed Turner's elbows away so his face almost dropped to the table.

"Geez, what the fuck, dude?!" the student moaned and finally looked up.

Keeping her voice down, Jane tried again. "Mr. Turner, we've heard you're quite a fan of philosophy and moral dilemmas…"

"_That's_ why you dragged me down here?!" he blinked in confusion.

"You've been working as a TA at the Department of Government for three years — is this correct?" Korsak asked.

Turner snorted in contempt. "Looks like you've already done your research, so what's the point of asking?"

The sergeant didn't lose his cool. "And two years ago, you led several discussion sections for Professor Howell's lecture on justice and morality?"

"Get to the point, man!" Turner rested his head on his arms again, bored and stubborn.

Secretly wondering whether she might get suspended for smacking the kid in the face, Jane leaned forward. "_The point _is we loved your presentation of that little moral dilemma with the couple in the gas chamber and the bomb in a family home. Wanna tell us more about it?"

"No, I wanna get the fuck out of here and go home," Turner grunted and got up, still oblivious to the severity of his situation.

"Sit down!" Korsak bellowed as he stood up as well.

Intimidated and suddenly wide awake, the student sank back down. "Why the hell do you care so much about some stupid hypothetical discussion from two years ago?"

"Seems like we're not the only ones who still care about that _hypothetical_ discussion," Jane replied calmly as Korsak sat down again.

Confused, Turner shook his head. "Yeah? Then why don't you talk to the guy who came up with it?"

"We've been told it was you, Mr. Turner," the sergeant declared.

"No, it wasn't!" Turner protested. "Some freak came up with it in the break room… Said he'd love to create a simulation to test what people would _really_ do in such a situation."

Jane frowned. "Some freak…?"

"Yeah, a student, I guess…" Anxiously, Turner finally took a close look at his two interviewers. "Will you tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

"Do you remember who that student was?" Korsak pushed further.

"Geez, no!" The young man leaned back in frustration. "It's been two years… and I didn't even know that kid."

Jane carefully watched his every gesture. "It wasn't someone from your lecture or discussion section?"

"Well, he wasn't in my discussion section but that doesn't mean he wasn't in the lecture…," Turner shook his head as if in disbelief that he was even asked this question. "You think I know all three hundred students in that class?"

"Would you recognize his face?" Korsak asked.

"Maybe…," Turner shrugged, then rubbed his tired eyes. "For fuck's sake, can I at least get some water in here?!"

Jane nodded at the officer in the corner and he quietly left the room. "We'll need to see your schedule for this past week — what you have been doing… when… and where."

"Easy," the student groaned. "Check the damn camera footage from the library. Been in there every day studying for my exams. You can also check my ID card records. Been swiping meals and everything all week."

Jane and Korsak exchanged doubtful glances. "So, just to be clear," the brunette summed it up. "Another student, whose identity you do not know, mentioned that scenario with the bomb and the couple in the gas chamber during one of your breaks, and then you used that very scenario in your discussion section?"

The young man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I said, damn it!"

"Well, the bad news is you won't get to your bed any time soon," Jane leaned forward. "The good news is you might walk out of here as a free man, but only after you've helped us identify that other student."

Turner cursed under his breath and buried his face in his hands again as Jane and Korsak got up and left the room to discuss their strategy.

"What do you think?" the sergeant asked once they were in the observation room next door. "My gut tells me that kid isn't cold-blooded enough to pull this off…"

Jane nodded and observed Turner through the one-way mirror. "We need to get pictures of all students enrolled at that faculty two years ago. Get them straight from the Registrar's Office. And then let's see if Turner recognizes someone."

"It's another long shot…," Korsak pointed out quietly.

Jane sighed. "Yeah, but the best shot we got right now."

"And what are we going to do about Howell?"

"Don't know. He creeps me out, but the officer I got on him said he drove straight to his house last night and stayed there."

The sergeant checked his watch. "We probably won't reach anybody at Harvard for at least two more hours. Go take a break — I'll handle the paperwork."

"But you've been up all night, too," the brunette protested. "And—"

"It's an order, Jane," Korsak gave her a fatherly smile. "Didn't you want to meet with the doc for breakfast anyway?"

"Yeah, well…," Jane glanced at her cell phone. It was still early and there was no new message from Maura. "But we'd better catch that sicko today. I won't leave for the weekend before we know who's behind this."

"So, go get some coffee. I need you to be awake," the sergeant insisted and shoved her out of the room without permitting any further protest.

…

…

Forty minutes later, Jane got out of her car in Maura's driveway, grabbed a bag of bagels from the passenger seat, and strolled to the front door.

As she inserted her key only to notice that the door was unlocked, she rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Heck, Maura… lock your damn d—"

The words died in her throat at the sight of the open bottle of grape juice on the floor, at the dark stains all over the white rug, at the rumpled and torn cloth on the cabinet.

"What the… Maura?!"

Her detective instincts instantly switching to DEFCON 1, Jane rushed into the house, tossed the bagels onto the cabinet, and cast a hasty glance at the great room. It was empty. And silent. She ran upstairs.

When there was no sign of Maura in the bedroom or bathroom either, she stormed back downstairs, taking two steps at a time, and whipped out her cell phone.

Scanning the great room with her eyes, Jane anxiously waited for her partner to answer his phone. "Korsak, it's me," she finally gasped. "Something happened to Maura… She's… she's not home and the hallway is all messy, like after a fight, and—" The brunette paused mid-sentence as she spotted tiny stains on one of the walls in the hallway. Feeling her stomach tense up, she stepped closer. "And… it looks like there's blood on the wall…"

She ran her hand through her hair in exasperation as she listened to the sergeant's voice trying to calm her down. "Just send some uniforms over here! Right now!" She hung up. This wasn't the time for courtesies.

Impatiently pacing up and down, Jane tried to focus her thoughts. _Who? What? When? Where? Why?_ She needed to gather basic information, put two and two together. Maybe there was a logical explanation for all of this.

When her eyes fell on Maura's cell phone on the kitchen counter, she slid the device into her pocket. Wherever the medical examiner was, maybe she would try to call. Or maybe someone else would… Trying to keep those kinds of thoughts at bay, Jane touched the tea pot on the counter. The tea had long gone cold. How long? When was the last time Maura had been in the kitchen? Someone must have interrupted her while the tea was still steeping. Someone she had willingly let in. Someone she knew. Someone who—

A noise at the still open front door brought Jane's train of thought to a sudden standstill. She turned around and found Professor Howell in the door frame, wearing a suit and a tie and a rather sly smile.

Instinctively, Jane drew her gun and aimed it straight at his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I really like this house… its exquisite design…" The professor stepped inside and let his eyes wander around. "Doctor Isles has excellent taste, don't you agree?"

Two fast leaps, then Jane grabbed the man by his collar, pushed him against the wall, and pointed her gun right in his face. "Where is she?"

But Howell remained calm. Too calm. "Lower your gun, Detective."

"_Where is she?!_" the brunette growled and shoved him against the wall in his back.

"Give me your gun, and I will tell you," he promised, completely calm and utterly unimpressed. "But if you'd rather shoot me, I'm afraid the doctor will die, too."

Jane hesitated, trying to read his face, to keep her burning anger under control. "Cops never hand over their guns."

"But people wishing to save their loved ones certainly do." Howell smiled — a cold and empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Breathing at the top of her lungs, Jane bit her lip and tightened her grip on the professor's neck.

"And I suggest you make up your mind before your backup arrives," he urged. "Otherwise, you'll never find her in time."

Swallowing hard, the detective pushed Howell away but then handed over her gun. Reluctantly.

A satisfied smirk on his lips, the professor nodded at Jane's cell phone on her belt. "And your phone, please…"

Clenching her empty fist, feeling naked without her gun, Jane reached for her phone and tossed it to Howell.

"Good." The professor smoothened his suit and adjusted his tie. "Now, how about you join me for a little ride?"

Feeling waves of adrenaline surge through her body and mix with her fury, Jane glared at the man. "How do I know you're really going to take me to her?"

"Oh, Detective," Howell tilted his head as if lecturing a disobedient child. "You know how this works. I am at least as interested in reuniting you with the doctor as you are." Without waiting for her response, the professor left the house. He knew the brunette would follow him.

And Jane did.

On their way to his car parked next to the detective's sedan in Maura's driveway, Howell stopped at the trashcans and threw away Jane's gun and phone. "You won't need this."

Yearning to smash the professor's head into those very same trashcans, Jane warily watched his every move, frantically thinking through her strategy. She had no idea where Maura was, or how much time she had left, or who was with her. She could have arrested Howell, locked him away or beat the crap out of him, but he wasn't the kind of opponent who'd succumb to any such pressures. He'd just sit there and smirk and feast on her despair. And she would never find Maura.

Jane froze — not because that last thought made every cell of her body cry out in agony but because her hand had brushed over her blazer's pocket. And something was still in there. Maura's phone.

Clinging to that faint glimmer of hope, the brunette followed Howell's motion to sit on the passenger seat of his dark Impala, but as soon as the car partially blocked the professor's view, she let her hand slide into her pocket, inconspicuously glanced at the phone grasped in her fingers, and somehow managed to call Korsak's number before getting into the car. She just hoped that the phone's battery wouldn't die. Not again. Not now.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" Howell asked smugly as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

"Believe it or not, I'm more of a conversationalist," Jane retorted. She needed to get him to talk, make him feel confident, let him slip out a clue regarding Maura's whereabouts.

"You are?" The professor gave her a derogatory look from the side. "Well, what would you like to talk about then?"

The brunette ignored his arrogance. She would get her revenge. Soon. "How about you tell me where we're going?"

Howell smiled to himself. "Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?"

"Are we gonna meet with your partner?" Jane wondered, always keeping one eye on the streets to watch out for any directions she could give to Korsak — assuming he was even listening.

"What makes you think I have a partner?" the professor raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Well, no offense," the brunette sneered. "But there's no way you could have pulled this off by yourself."

"Oh, with the right amount of planning anything is possible… I've spent the last two years preparing this study…" The academic leaned back complacently as he steered his car towards the Back Bay. "How else do you think I could have planted all those bombs? I even built them myself… Inquisitive minds always find a way…"

"But you need someone to keep an eye on Doctor Isles right now," Jane pushed further.

"Why?" Howell smirked, "For all you know, she could be in the trunk of this car…" When Jane winced at the thought, he shook his head in amusement. "But I can assure you, she's not." Enjoying his superiority far too much, the professor studied the brunette's worried face. "But yes, I will admit, I do have a partner."

"One of your students?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call him my student."

"And what would you call him?"

"We're research partners," Howell explained. "You can't conduct such a ground-breaking study without having a second pair of eyes to check and confirm your data. Sadly, Steven won't be around once I will publish my results, but, oh well…"

"Steven…?"

"Yes. Maybe I'll introduce you. We'll see."

Realizing that Howell had no intention to discuss his partner's identity further, Jane opted for another strategy. "So, you're doing all of this for… research?!"

"Of course," the professor nodded as if there had never been any doubt. "Do you have any idea how _boring_ my field actually is?!" He shook his head in disbelief as they turned onto Harvard Bridge and crossed the Charles River. "Year after year, I have to listen to the same predictable nonsense in my lectures: _Oh, sure I'd pull that lever! — Why no, I'd never push the fat man off the bridge! — Well, I would do what's best for the largest number of people…_ — yadda, yadda, yadda." Resentfully, he turned to Jane. "Can you imagine how excruciatingly tedious this is?!"

The detective couldn't help but snort at the professor's revelation. "So you thought killing off a few people and blowing up some buildings here and there was the way to go?"

"Well, I certainly concede that it isn't the most elegant approach," Howell shrugged. "But moral dilemmas have never been about elegant solutions. They're intended to push you to your limit… to take you where it really hurts. Which is why it's so pointless to have all these unsubstantial discussions." His eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked at Jane from the side. "People say all kinds of things as long as it's just a theoretical scenario. But once you throw them into the water, once you confront them with their own moral incertitude — _that's_ when it gets really interesting!"

Before Jane could follow up further, Howell stopped his car in the shades of the trees lining the banks of the Charles River. "Speaking of which… It's time."

Confused, the brunette looked around. They had parked in the middle of a lively neighborhood close to MIT and Harvard — with other cars, cyclists, joggers, and tourists everywhere. Where the hell was he taking her?

Howell noticed her confusion and let her dangle for a moment. "You didn't think I'd let you see the house, did you?"

Before Jane could respond, the professor got out of his car, walked behind it, and popped the trunk. As she heard him rummage through the contents in the back of the Impala, and sensing that this was her only chance before who knows what would happen, Jane swiftly reached for the phone in her pocket, praying that it was still turned on.

It was not.

Barely able to stop herself from blurting out an assortment of expletives, Jane let Maura's phone disappear in one of her blazer's inner pockets and took a deep breath as Howell got back into the car.

"Now what?" she asked impatiently.

"Now, it's time for a little nap," Howell declared and revealed the small case he had gotten from the trunk. Completely at ease, he opened it and pulled out another syringe. "Do you want to do it the hard way or can we skip all inconveniences and get this over with quickly?"

Grinding her teeth, Jane took one last look at her surroundings. She had no gun, no working phone, nothing. And Maura was still out there… waiting… alone. And as such, there was only one thing she could do.

Without looking at Howell, she rolled up her sleeve and offered her left arm to the professor, faintly flinching when he jabbed the needle into her vein.

Seconds later, Jane felt the sedative spread through her body, blurring her vision, twisting her stomach, pulling her into darkness. "How long until… this… this…"

Satisfied, Howell watched as the brunette sank into her seat and her eyes fell shut.

It was time for his last scenario. The one with the highest stakes. The one whose outcome even he could not predict.

…

…

The darkness was still gripping her tightly, when Jane felt someone shaking her, slapping her cheek, forcing her to wake up.

"What the…," she mumbled semi-consciously.

"Are you ready for your close-up?" The question was followed by more shaking and slapping.

Blurred shapes and silhouettes reached her visual senses as Jane finally opened her eyes and squinted at the man hovering above her.

"Welcome back," Howell said. "I'm sorry, Steven couldn't be here. But I guess you're not really concerned about _him_ anyway…"

Fighting the drowsiness clouding her mind, Jane rolled onto her side and tried to make out her surroundings, feeling the cold floor beneath.

"You know the drill…," the professor patted her on the back. "When you're ready, your task will be waiting next door."

"You won't get away with this…," Jane warned weakly as the room kept on spinning before her eyes.

"Of course, I will," Howell declared confidently. "And don't bother trying to negotiate your way out of this. There's a reason why I chose you, so make it worth my time. Entertain me!"

"You're gonna kill me anyway," the brunette groaned half-awake. "Now that I know you're behind this…"

"Oh, don't worry," Howell smiled haughtily. "After this one, the whole world will know that I'm behind this. Obviously, this means I will have to resign from my professorship. But I intend to go out with a bang." When Jane didn't move, still fighting against the sedatives' after-effect, he smacked her cheek once more. "And I suggest you don't fall asleep again — you'd be missing all the fun." After he had assured himself that the detective wasn't going to pass out again, Howell got up. "Now, if you'll excuse me… I have to bid goodbye to Steven."

Still not fully alert, Jane tried to heave herself up, squinting at the man from the corner of her eye.

"Oh, and don't forget to smile," Howell suggested wryly as he looked down at his last candidate. "You're on camera."

With that, he left through a door a few feet away, and silence filled the room.

Another minute passed until Jane's thoughts began to unscramble themselves, until the memories washed over her mind, until she remembered Maura's house and the ride in the car and the syringe and… and then nothing.

Nothing but Maura.

Her pulse shooting up in desperation, she finally pulled herself up on her knees, then on her feet, and staggered towards the door. Too fast.

Almost fainting when all blood left her head, Jane steadied herself against the wall, eyes closed, and attempted to make sense of her situation. She had no idea how long she had been out, but judging from the emptiness in her stomach and the dryness of her mouth, it must have been hours. Long hours in which Howell could have taken her anywhere he wanted. Long hours in which Korsak hadn't been able to find her. Why hadn't the sergeant—

That damn phone!

With Howell's last words still echoing through her mind, Jane instinctively turned towards the wall to use her body as a shield against whatever kind of camera Howell might have installed, and then she reached into her pocket. The phone was still there. But it was still turned off.

"Come on, damn it," she cursed under her breath and repeatedly pressed the power button. Maybe those long hours had been enough for the battery to recover.

And suddenly, the phone came back to life. At least for a few seconds. Searching for a signal. Blinking and connecting. And then it died again.

"Damn it!" Jane gasped.

At least the rush of adrenaline filling her veins had finally fended off her drowsiness, and thus, the brunette took a deep breath and headed for the door. Unsure what to expect. But very sure that she wouldn't like it.

A few steps later, her worst fears came true when she entered the sterile basement that their witnesses had so vividly described, and when she found Maura on a chair in a cell behind bars, and when she recognized the panic that the blonde was trying to hide.

"Maura…," the detective whispered, scared and unhinged.

"Jane…," the doctor breathed back. "It's Howell…"

"I know…," Jane nodded faintly, and for a moment, her heart stopped at the sight of the other woman's pale face. "You alright?"

"No, not really…," Maura weakly shook her head and fought the lump in her throat. "You're not going to like this…"

…

…


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:**__ So, who else had a foreign object on their cornea last night?  
Well, nevertheless, time for a new chapter… And as you know, when it rains, it pours… Just pretend you were a Red Sox fan at the end of the 2003 season…_

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…

**Chapter 12**

_**April 5, 2014 — Now**_

Fifteen minutes have passed. Fifteen minutes of denial and anger and a badly thrown handcuff key. Fifteen minutes of trying to solve a scenario that has no solution. And now, with only three minutes remaining, Jane and Maura have nothing left to hold on to but each other.

_I love you more than Fenway Park._

Like a comforter to fend off the coldness of the cell, Jane's words warm Maura's battered body and reawaken her spirits. It is everything Maura has been yearning to hear for too many months, but it is the one thing she is unable to deal with right now. The one thing that can heal her heart and break it at the same time. The one thing that will bring back her doubts and send her thoughts spinning.

Just moments ago, her decision was irrevocable, but now it feels irrational. And it makes her wonder, makes her doubt her own judgment, makes her question her reasoning. What if she is about to make the biggest mistake of her life? What if there is no bomb but another way out of this? Maybe Howell's sedatives have clouded her mind and she is missing the decisive clue?

Frantically, she tries to remember every detail of this case, from Oliver Diaz' body and the first defused bomb to the moment when Howell dragged her into this cell and informed her of her role in his last scenario. She tried to negotiate with him, asked him to just kill her and spare all those people in Fenway Park, begged him not to force this decision upon Jane. But he just laughed and fixed her handcuffs a little tighter. As soon as he left the basement, she yanked at those handcuffs, attempting to slip free from her restraints and to get those wires off her arms and chest, twisting and turning and pulling until the skin on her wrists was sore and would hurt with any further movement. That was when she knew there was no way out for her. That was when the tears came. And so she just cried. For minutes or hours on end. Until she had no tears left… Until she came to accept her fate… Until she began to think of what lay ahead, of how she would have to tell Jane, of how the detective would react…

And she knew Jane would fight it and refuse to accept it. She knew Jane would try everything to free them, even if it meant she would have to tear down those cold walls with her bare hands. She even knew that Jane would try to sacrifice herself and threaten to die together with her right there in that basement. But what she didn't foresee was that Jane could derail her plan and shatter her resolve with a few simple words.

_I love you more than Fenway Park._

The words still embrace Maura's heart and soul. And if this were a cheesy Hollywood flick, this would be the moment when the cavalry would arrive and burst through these walls and break them free. But this is no movie, and there is no happy ending. They are on their own. Together, and yet so far apart.

"Please, don't do this to me," Jane begs, her voice bare of the cheerfulness normally elicited by Maura's presence. "I don't know what I'd do without you…"

But of course, Jane knows. Or at least she has a pretty good idea of what she would do. Assuming that Howell would indeed let her live, she would first use some of the holidays BPD owes her to hunt the professor down. Most likely, Korsak would offer his help and be willing to turn a blind eye in case she needed to bend the law, but she would refuse his assistance in order not to endanger the sergeant's career. Her thirst for vengeance would suffice to open all doors that would otherwise remain closed for cops. And no matter where Howell would hide, she would find him, and make him pay, and let him suffer. Maybe she would kill him at some point, or maybe she wouldn't, but he would certainly feel the full force of her revenge. And when she would be done with him, her life would be without purpose or meaning, and she would merely exist. A shadow of her former self… still alive but dead inside. For a while, she might be able to numb the pain with too much liquor or Acapulco Gold or meaningless sex, but none of this would suffice to fill the void in her heart. Inevitably, the thought of suicide would impose itself, but she wouldn't be able to put that burden on her family's shoulders. Her mother would never recover, Frankie and Tommy would not understand, and T.J. would grow up competing with whispered memories of an aunt he never really knew. And thus, she would have to find another way to end her misery. She would take more risks during pursuits or undercover missions and throw herself into the line of fire in hopes for that one bullet that would set her free. And maybe one day, she would be in luck… And as she would be taken down to the morgue, it would almost feel like coming home. Jane Rizzoli, age: 39, height: 5' 9'', cause of death: broken heart.

And with second after second falling prey to the timer's relentless rhythm, that darkest of all visions slowly forces its way into Jane's reality.

"I wish there was another way…," Maura finally whispers when her eyes find Jane's again. "There are so many things I'd still like to do… together with you…"

And Maura wonders what it would be like. To wake up next to each other not just as friends but as lovers… To watch Jane blink sleepily in the hazy morning sunlight and to steal a kiss from her lips that would put a smile on both their faces for the rest of the day… They would banter over coffee, and fight over who would get to drive, and then pause in the door frame to lean in for another kiss while trying to snatch the car keys from each other's hands. At work, they wouldn't tell anybody — at least not in the beginning —, so they could enjoy the thrill of their secret affair a little longer, like teenagers playing hooky, drunk with love and making out behind the gym. At some point, Sergeant Korsak would find out, and they would have to tell Angela, which would probably mean that the rest of BPD would soon know it, too. But it wouldn't really make a difference. They could explore the city as a couple, eat out in fancy restaurants, lie in the grass at the Esplanade, or even drive down to Cape Cod. They would visit Boston's finest museums, and Jane would roll her eyes and try to touch all the exhibits that no one is allowed to touch. In return, she might join the detective for a movie or two and reluctantly treat her gastro-intestinal tract with salted popcorn and overly-sugared soda. And of course, they would watch the Red Sox play the Yankees at Fenway Park, and for at least a few hours, nothing else would matter. And at the end of the day, they would snuggle together under the duvet, making love in the quiet of the night or simply getting lost in each other's eyes, fingers entwined and heartbeats aligned.

But it is just a fleeting dream… Made-up memories of all the things that could have been…

Because they are still stuck in that basement, separated by those damn bars. And with just two minutes left on the clock, Maura knows that there won't be anything else… just memories and dreams.

"We can still do all those things you want to do…," Jane's trembling voice breaks the silence. "Nobody forced these people to go to Fenway today, and they all knew that major events are an easy target for attacks these days. And it was their choice to go there anyway. But _you _did not have that choice. Nobody asked _you _if you wanted to be here." The brunette's voice fills with desperation as her eyes fall on the timer. "But you do have a choice right now. You can choose to stay alive, and I'm begging you, please, make that choice, Maura. Get out of here alive… with me."

There is nothing else Jane could say, and so she just lets her eyes speak instead.

And when Maura sees the affection and vulnerability in the detective's tormented face, she falters. How easy it would be to toss her plan and change her mind. And Jane was right — no one could blame her. She has helped lock away bad guys. She has brought peace to their victims. She has saved numerous lives, including that of a serial killer who wanted to cut her throat in return. She has donated her kidney to a half-sister she barely knows. And she wouldn't hesitate to do everything all over again. No one could blame her if she wanted to act in her own selfish interest just once. She deserves a shot at happiness, too.

But as soon as the thought enters her mind, Maura knows it wouldn't work. Happiness doesn't begin with the loss of dozens of lives. Happiness doesn't consist of lying awake at night, riddled with guilt and overcome by remorse. There wouldn't be any common future for her and Jane if they only got together by tearing so many others apart.

"I can't, Jane…," Maura sighs. "I can't let all those people die."

And somewhere deep inside, Jane knows it, too. She glances at the button, then at the timer and at the monitor with the live feed from Fenway Park. The ballpark where she spent so many childhood hours… Where she relaxed in the bleachers during her time at the police academy… Where she could even imagine getting married some day — right over home plate where the Sox are currently warming up. And she realizes that a bomb in that ballpark would destroy so much more than the lives of too many innocents. It would also kill people's hopes and dreams. And the city would never be the same.

"It won't hurt…," Maura says quietly when the detective's eyes find their way back to her chair and to the wires attached to her wrists and chest.

"It will hurt…," Jane objects as she once again imagines how her life without Maura would be.

"I… I probably won't even feel it…"

"But I will…"

"As soon as you push the button, an electric circuit will be established," Maura explains factually, feeling her heartbeat increase with every precious second ticking away on the clock. Facts are the only way she can make it sound less terrifying for the both of them. Facts are objective. Facts allow detachment. "And then it only takes a fraction of a second. An ordinary domestic power supply voltage of 110V at 60Hz suffices to induce ventricular fibrillation… The heart's muscle cells lack coordinated pulses… circulation cannot be maintained… and it leads to cardiac arrest…"

And even though Jane listens to Maura's explanation, none of the doctor's words reach the detective's brain. Instead, Jane takes in the pure sound of Maura's voice, its pitch and intonation. And she watches her talk and memorizes every detail of her face, the sparkles in her hazel eyes, the way her hair falls over her shoulders and merges with the perfect curves of her body…

One minute.

One minute is what is left of their time together. Sixty precious seconds to say whatever still needs to be said.

"It's not your fault, Jane…," Maura insists, her voice vibrating with urgency. "None of this is your fault. And this is _my_ decision now. This is what _I_ want. But I need your help. I need you to push that button and save all those people in Fenway Park…"

Jane glances at the button again. Fifty seconds.

"Please, do this, Jane…," Maura begs, her eyes filling with tears.

And Jane knows she is losing this fight. All she needs now is the certainty that there is no reason to fight on. She swallows hard and looks at the blonde. "Tell me you don't love me and I'll do it…"

For a moment, Maura feels nothing but the racing beat of her own heart. This is not how she wants her last conversation with Jane to end. Not with an ultimatum, not with words that would negate the bond between them. And she wishes she could just set the truth free, and yell it out loud for the whole world to hear. But she can't. The price is simply too high. "I… I love you like a friend…," she quietly concedes instead. "Like my best friend…"

And even though she knows that it is a physical impossibility, Maura hears Jane's heart break as their last forty seconds begin to tick down.

Thus, the infinite abyss ultimately wins again. And Jane can feel herself tumble and fall. Into the dark. Into nothingness. Just like she did after Hoyt and after Frost's death. But this time, Maura won't be there to pull her back into the light. This time, she will continue to fall until the last glimmer of light disappears. And then there will only be darkness.

"I don't regret our time together…," Maura admits in one last attempt to give Jane something to hold on to. "I don't regret my life… or some of the choices I've made. I was happy. _You_ made me happy, Jane. And I guess that's the only thing that matters in the end." She looks at the timer. Thirty seconds between now and the unknown. "I'm ready… and I'm not afraid of dying, Jane… As long as you're here…"

"But I'm afraid of living when you're not here anymore…" Jane doesn't look at the timer again, nor at the live feed from Fenway Park. For one last time, she simply loses herself in Maura's hazel eyes, in their warmth and affection and in everything that she fell in love with a long time ago.

And with only twenty seconds remaining, Maura yearns more than ever before to let Jane know just how much she cared. How much she still cares. How much she would always care if she had the chance. And she remembers all those nights in which she secretly read about the Red Sox and Fenway Park. Because Jane loves that ballpark. And because she loves Jane.

"Did you know that the first official game in Fenway Park was played on April 9, 1912?" Maura tries to sound as casual as possible under these circumstances. One last moment of normalcy. One last fun fact. "And the Red Sox beat the Harvard Crimson… 2-0…?"

Jane nods feebly. She knows Fenway's history. And she knows what Maura is trying to do.

"You're the Red Sox now… and you need to beat Harvard." A faint smile plays on Maura's lips at her last goodbye. "The Red Sox never give up… and neither will you."

And when all they have left is ten fleeting seconds, there is nothing else that Jane could say. "I love you, Maura…"

They both know what will happen next. They both have made their decision.

"I'm sorry," Jane whispers.

And with one swift move, she averts her eyes and pushes the button.

…

…


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N:**__ Ooh, __so in order to get more reviews I just have to kinda kill off a character? Good to know… :-P (Seriously, thanks for the reviews/PMs. They're wonderful!)  
_

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**Chapter 13**

_**April 5, 2014 (continued)**_

Deadly silence fills the basement.

And for one eternal moment, Jane stands frozen to her spot next to the metal bars. Hoping and praying and unwilling to open her eyes. As if the outcome of her pushing the button will hang in the balance as long as she refuses to look — like a hauntingly real version of Schrödinger's cat. And Jane is yearning to hear Maura's voice, telling her that she was fine or that everything was just a dream or that the whole scenario was one hell of a bluff after all.

But Maura doesn't speak.

Instead, there is an almost inaudible mechanical click from the bars as they unlock.

And finally, Jane opens her eyes, glances at the monitor with the live feed from Fenway Park. And the ballpark looks the way it always does on a night like this — players are warming up, fans are cheering them on, the crowd is getting ready for the game.

But for Jane, the game is already over. And she knows it's time to face the final score.

And as she hesitantly turns to the cell, every fiber of her body bursts in agony. She may be able to confront the most horrendous crime scenes at work, but nothing has prepared her for the sight of Maura motionlessly slumped down on that chair.

"No, no, no…," Jane gasps in panic as she rattles at the metal bars… until she figures out where to pull and how to break through.

Barely feeling the ground beneath her feet, she storms into the cell, straight to the opposite wall, and kicks away the box that connects the wires on Maura's wrists to an outlet in the wall. She's acting purely on instincts, on almost forgotten emergency routines stored in the back of her mind.

_Danger — response. Protect yourself, then help others._

Once she is sure the electric circuit is broken, her trembling fingers pick up the handcuff key from the ground behind the chair — a taunting reminder of her failed attempt to beat this wicked game. She almost drops the key again as she tries to force it into the lock. But finally, it fits and she removes the handcuffs and hurls them into the corner of the room.

Then her hands find Maura's wrists. But there is no pulse.

"Come on, Maura… It's not funny…" Jane murmurs as she slides her arms under the blonde's back and legs, and heaves her from the chair down to the ground. Once again, panic grips her mind, threatening to drown all the first-aid protocols BPD has hammered into her brain so often before.

_Compression, airway, breathing… Come on, I can do this!_

Feeling the frenzied beating of her own heart, Jane kneels down next to Maura's lifeless body and starts the CPR routine. She quickly finds the necessary rhythm, presses her hands down on Maura's chest. One… two… three…

_Four minutes or less… That's how long the brain can go without blood… _

Jane knows the odds are terrible at best. Without medical assistance, her efforts are doomed to fail. But that thought will have to wait. Right now, all she can do is keep the blood flowing through Maura's body. Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…

_Thirty to two… thirty compressions to two breaths of air…_

With a swift _head tilt—chin lift _maneuver, she clears Maura's airway, checks for any signs of breathing. In vain. Pushing her fears to the back of her mind, Jane presses her mouth on Maura's and passes air into the blonde's respiratory system. Once… twice…

Then another compression interval. One… two… three…

"Maura, come on! It's really not funny anymore!" Jane gasps while rhythmically compressing Maura's chest.

And once again, precious seconds keep ticking away. Time is running out.

_CPR won't restart the heart… It just extends the window of opportunity for resuscitation without permanent brain damage… Without defibrillation, the patient will die…_

Suppressing her tears and her emotions boiling up inside, Jane keeps her focus on her task. Out of breath. Shaking. But unwilling to give up. Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…

Gasping for air and swallowing a sob, she switches to the next ventilation sequence. Once… twice…

She checks for any signs of breathing. Again nothing. Desperate, she starts the third compression interval. One… two… three…

"Breathe, damn it!" Panic fills Jane's voice at the sight of Maura's lifeless body. "You ate my fucking fries at the _Robber_ — you owe me, Maura!"

Fourteen… fifteen… sixteen…

Her strength dwindles away with every additional compression. "I went a whole damn week without coffee… but you wanna give up just like that?! Really, Maura?!"

Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…

Blackness creeps up on her from the corner of her eyes. Running on an empty stomach, weakened by the stress and Howell's sedatives, Jane won't last much longer. Gathering the last of her strength, she administers another round of mouth-to-mouth. Once… twice…

Her movements slowing down and more erratic now, she struggles to adhere to the required rhythm. Yet, she still doesn't give up but starts another compression interval. One… two… three…

_Four minutes… Four minutes… Then it'll be too late… What am I gonna do?_

Ten… eleven… twelve…

_How long? How long have I been doing this? What if it's too late? What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do?_

Eighteen… nineteen… twen—

BANG!

A loud thud shakes the hallway outside of the cell.

Jane freezes, halts her CPR efforts, looks around in panic. Is Howell coming back? To watch and laugh at her desperate attempts to save Maura? Or to kill her after all?

BANG!

Another thud echoes through the hallway.

And then, with a third loud bang, that metallic door gets busted open. Light from outside falls into the basement. The noise of hectic hustle and bustle fends off the silence.

"Jane?!" Korsak's voice calls from outside.

"Korsak? Over here!" Jane cries in despair, then resumes her resuscitation efforts. Another ventilation sequence. Once… twice…

Two officers in SWAT gear reach the cell. The sergeant follows on their heels, gasping in shock at the sight of Maura lying lifelessly on the ground.

"Call an ambulance!" Jane orders feebly. "She's not breathing…"

One of the officers rushes back outside, whereas Korsak steps into the cell, startled and unsure what to do. "Ambulance is already outside…"

Almost in trance now, Jane starts another compression interval. "She's… she's not breathing…," she sobs again, unable to keep her emotions under control any longer at the thought of losing Maura.

Moments later, the SWAT officer returns, followed by two EMT paramedics with emergency equipment. They rush into the cell, where Jane is still rhythmically compressing Maura's chest. The first EMT crouches down opposite the brunette and checks Maura's vitals. The second EMT tries to take Jane's place. "We handle it from here… What happened?"

Oblivious to her surroundings, Jane keeps administering CPR, unwilling to move from Maura's side. "Electric shock… she's… she hasn't been breathing for… I don't know…"

"You need to let us help her," the first EMT urges, while the second one softly but insistently grabs Jane's hands and tries to push her away. "Ma'am, let me do this…"

When Korsak realizes that Jane is about to break down, he steps closer and gently pulls her away. "Come on, Jane… Let them do their job…"

Without any strength or resistance left, Jane lets Korsak drag her a few feet away and sinks to the floor, her eyes still fixed on Maura and the paramedics, who initiate their own resuscitation measures.

"I did this… I killed her…," she whispers in shock as one EMT continues to work on Maura, while the other prepares their defibrillator.

Speechless and still wondering what exactly happened in that basement, Korsak pulls Jane into his arms, prevents her from watching the EMTs' seemingly unsuccessful efforts to save Maura's life.

"I killed her, Korsak…," Jane cries in the sergeant's arms and buries her face in his shoulder.

And as he holds his trembling partner, Korsak observes with concern how the first EMT slides an oxygen mask over Maura's face, while the second EMT charges the defibrillator. "Ready? Clear!"

Maura's body jerks as the electric shock jolts through her, but there is no further reaction, and the paramedics continue their treatment.

And even though Jane doesn't watch, she can feel Maura slipping away. Because of her. Because she pushed the button. "I killed her…," she sobs again in Korsak's arms.

The first EMT questioningly turns to the sergeant and Jane. "When did it happen? How long have you been doing CPR?"

But Jane isn't responsive any longer, and Korsak just shrugs helplessly.

The EMT turns back around and nods at the other paramedic. "Once more…"

They repeat the whole procedure. Charging, clearing, shocking. Again, Maura's body jerks. And again, there is no reaction.

Several SWATs have gathered outside of the cell, holding their breath and watching in silence how the paramedics frantically do their job while Jane is crying in the sergeant's arms.

Minutes have passed since Jane pushed that button, but nobody knows for sure how long Maura has been gone. And thus, the paramedics keep on trying. "Ready…? Clear!"

Maura's body jerks again and everybody in the basement freezes in uncertainty.

But then…

"We have a pulse!" The first EMT's face lightens up and he double-checks Maura's vitals, then briefly glances at Korsak and Jane. "She's back!"

And despite the darkness already tugging heavily at Jane, these words somehow still reach her brain.

_We have a pulse. _

Wearily, she steadies herself against the sergeant and turns towards the paramedics, who are doing whatever they can to keep that sparkle of life from dying again.

_We have a pulse._

But even though these may be the four most important words of her life, the hours of anguish and despair are weighing heavily on Jane's shoulders. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she clings to Korsak's arms and watches in trance how the EMTs are monitoring every tiny sign of Maura's body, how they apply an IV and ECG, how they remove the remains of the wires from Maura's wrists, how they keep checking her vitals to prevent her from slipping away.

_We have a pulse… But she almost died… Because of me. I did this to her. I killed Maura. _

And with this fresh surge of emotions, that grueling day finally takes its toll. Dehydrated and still fighting the residual effect of Howell's sedatives, Jane gives in to exhaustion and her eyes flutter shut as she collapses in Sergeant Korsak's arms.

…

…

For a while, there is nothing but darkness.

Emptiness and deathly silence. And Jane is alone, trapped in the netherworld of her subconscious mind. Alone with the thought that she killed Maura. And gradually, this thought gains in intensity, begins to swirl around her feet like the first innocuous waves of the oncoming tide.

_I killed her. It was my choice. I killed Maura. _

And the thought grows stronger, engulfs her, sweeps her away.

_I killed Maura. I told her I loved her, and then I killed her. I killed Maura._

And soon, she is drowning in a sea of guilt that is washing over her and pulling her under. But there is no helping hand to drag her away from that insidious undertow. Because she chose to kill that helping hand. Because she killed Maura.

"Jane?"

It's not the voice she is yearning to hear, not that soft and delicate whisper that has saved her from the darkness so often before.

"Jane? You hear me?"

At least, this deep voice is equally insistent, and it provides an acoustic beacon to guide her out of the darkness. Away from her guilt.

"Come on, Jane, wake up!"

And she holds on to that voice, fights the waves of guilt relentlessly pulling her towards the shadows lurking in her mind. Until she feels someone gently shaking her shoulders. Until she senses the light of day touching her eyelids. Until she hears footsteps and more voices murmuring in the distance.

Dazed and confused, Jane finally opens her eyes and finds Korsak hovering over her, his face filled with concern.

"Geez, you had me worried there for a minute…," the sergeant sighs in relief.

"What happened?" Jane mumbles drowsily as Korsak helps her up from the cold ground of the cell. But before he can answer, she recognizes her surroundings, and she remembers everything — the cell, her choice, the lifeless body of Maura lying at her feet. But Maura is gone, and so are the EMTs, and panic grips Jane's heart as she clutches the sergeant's arms. "Where is she? Where is Maura?"

"On the way to the hospital," Korsak says calmly. "I'll take you there as soon as you're able to get up."

"I'm fine," Jane murmurs and staggers to her feet. But she instantly regrets her move as her knees give in and she slumps back down.

"You won't help anybody if you pass out again, Jane," the sergeant cautions and hands her a bottle of water. "Here, drink some water and take it slowly…"

Ignoring the bottle, Jane anxiously looks at Korsak, fragile and almost too afraid to ask. "Is she… is she alright…?"

"Didn't look good at first," he explains in all honesty. "They almost lost her again… But when they left for the hospital, she was stable. They think she'll make it… But it's too soon to tell if there'll be any permanent damage…"

At the thought of that possibility, the shadows of guilt tighten their grip on Jane's mind and she buries her face in her hands, trying to suppress her tears.

Caringly, Korsak nudges her with the water bottle. "Come on, drink something. Then we drive over there. And on the way, you tell me what happened."

_I killed Maura. That's what happened. I killed her because— _

Suddenly, a whole new wave of blurred memories washes over her mind. "Bomb… there's… a bomb… at Fenway…," Jane mutters.

"At Fenway Park?" Korsak stiffens up, tries to get Jane's attention. "Jane, look at me! You're saying there's a bomb at Fenway Park?"

Sensing the sergeant's panic, Jane looks up and nods, focusing her thoughts. "He… he threatened to blow up the ballpark…"

Urgency written all over his face, Korsak's eyes land on an officer waiting nearby. "You heard her. Call headquarters!"

Once the officer has rushed outside, Korsak worriedly studies Jane's tired features. "He made you choose between Maura and a bomb at Fenway Park?"

Spoken out loud, the weight of these words is too heavy to bear, and Jane emptily stares at the spot on the ground where Maura's lifeless body lay just minutes ago.

_He gave me a choice, and I didn't choose Maura. I killed her._

Hesitantly, Korsak holds out his hand to help her up. "Let's get out of here…"

But Jane doesn't move. "She's been… dead… for several minutes… What if she's not going to… I mean… what if there'll be permanent…" The words die in her throat as she tries to hold back her tears.

"We won't know unless we drive to the hospital," Korsak points out quietly, then pulls her up. "Come on, Jane… I'm sure she'll be fine…"

Too weak to resist any further, Jane finally accepts the bottle of water from the sergeant's hand and takes a long draft. With her knees still shaking, she holds on to Korsak and teeters out of the cell, towards the end of the hallway, and steps outside into the twilight of a chilly April night.

And as Jane inhales the fresh air and slowly regains control over her body, she realizes that she has no idea where she is. Looking around in confusion, she steps away from the basement's exit and finds herself in the yard of a plain two-story home in a middle-class neighborhood. Police cars and SWAT vans are parked outside. Officers and CSRU techs are hurrying back and forth. And a handful of curious neighbors have gathered across the street.

Officer Radnor stands in the middle of the scene, eagerly overseeing everybody's activities. When he spots Jane and recognizes her, he tips his hat and smiles. "You alright?"

Still confused, Jane simply nods and leans against one of the police cars to fend off another bout of dizziness. She squints at Korsak as he steps to her side. "Where are we?"

"South Somerville," the sergeant says. "The house belongs to one of Howell's former students and research assistants. Steven McKee."

"Steven…?" Jane vaguely remembers her conversation with the professor in his car. And Maura's broken phone. "Wait, so you did get my call?"

"Only a few minutes of it… until Howell mentioned Steven. Then the connection broke up," Korsak explains. "There are multiple Stevens in Howell's classes and among the faculty members… We spent all day tracking them down and put a trace on your phone, hoping you'd call again. About an hour ago, your phone pinged a cell tower nearby, and only one Steven lives in this area." The sergeant sheepishly shrugs his shoulders. "Was nothing but a hunch…"

"Nice hunch…," Jane sighs feebly after another sip from her water bottle, then lets her eyes wander over the property. "Where's your car?"

"Right across the street." Korsak waits for her to straighten up before leading her down the driveway, unaware that Jane's thoughts are slowly drifting back to the choice she made.

_What if I had waited a little longer? Just a few more minutes in that other room to delay the start of the timer…? They could have saved us… They would have been there in time…But instead I chose to kill her… I killed Maura._

"Howell and McKee are gone though," Korsak admits angrily as they reach his car. "And Howell's house is deserted… He must have tricked the officer you had on him… But we got BOLOs out and informed the airports… We'll get them, Jane."

_Even if we get them, I can't undo what I have done…_

"Let's go to the hospital," the sergeant says but then notices Jane's worried face as he holds the car door open for her. Supportively, he pats her arm. "She'll make it, Jane…"

But Jane's thoughts are stuck again, and as she sinks down on the passenger seat, her mind is already shrouded in darkness.

_She'll make it… but she'll never forgive me…_

Before getting behind the wheel, Korsak briefly turns around and waves at Officer Radnor. "It's your scene. Keep me updated!"

A proud grin spreads across the young officer's face and he instantly rushes back to the house, bellowing out orders, determined to handle his first scene like a pro.

…

…

An hour later, Jane is huddled up on a couch in the waiting room of Beth Israel's emergency ward, arms wrapped around her legs pulled to her chest. Shivering from the exertions of the day and lethargically staring at the ground, she is unaware of her surroundings, paralyzed by her fears, surrendering to the waves of guilt drowning her inside.

_I should have waited… just a few more minutes… I could have saved her… But instead I killed her…_

Moments later, Sergeant Korsak emerges from around the corner, a plastic cup of watered-down hospital coffee in one hand and an assortment of granola bars and snacks in the other. He plops down next to Jane and worriedly studies her from the side.

"You had no choice, Jane…," he points out hesitantly, searching for the right words to soothe his tormented partner.

"I always have a choice…," Jane objects sorrowfully.

Korsak nudges her with the coffee and a granola bar. "You need to eat something or you might as well book a room in here for yourself." When Jane keeps her eyes on the ground, he puts on a playful smile and tears open the wrapping of the granola bar. "Don't make me force-feed you…"

Slowly but gradually becoming aware of the black hole in her stomach, Jane eventually gives in to the sergeant's attempts to cheer her up and grabs the coffee and granola bar. "I should have just waited…," she murmurs to herself, then sips at the coffee and takes a halfhearted bite from the bar.

"You did what you had to do…," Korsak argues. "Followed your cop instincts…"

"Great!" Jane snorts and shakes her head. "Awesome cop… shitty best friend…"

Unsure what to say or how to react, Korsak leans back and instead shifts his attention to the next steps in their case. With Howell and McKee still at large, the hunt is far from over and the situation at Fenway Park remains critical. "They've started a full search at Fenway, but as long as the game is going on, we have to keep a low profile to avoid a mass panic. We can only hope that Howell sticks to his own rules and doesn't blow up the place at the last minute…"

Unable to cope with their case right now, Jane huffs in frustration. "Can you _not_ talk about any of this for a while?! I'm sick of this trolley bullshit… and all those stupid bombs… and… just everything!"

Nodding sympathetically, Korsak rips open one of his snack bags and gulps down some pretzels without taking his eyes off Jane.

Before he gets a chance to mull over his next consolation efforts, a doctor in blue scrubs approaches the waiting area, making a beeline for Jane and Korsak on the couch. When the two of them notice him, they jump from their seats — eager for news but afraid of what the doctor might say.

"You're here for Doctor Isles?" the physician assures himself of their identity.

"Yeah, how is she?" Korsak presses for information, while Jane stands back, wrapping her arms around herself and nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

"We're optimistic," the doctor declares encouragingly. "We're still running a number of standard tests, but the CT didn't show any intracranial hemorrhages or injuries, and it appears that the resuscitation efforts succeeded in time to prevent permanent brain damage. We'll have to monitor for delayed cardiac arrhythmias though, so we'll keep her on a 24-hour ECG."

"But she'll be fine?" Korsak asks for clarification, confused by the medical explanations.

"Her chances of full recovery are high," the doctor nods. "She has minor CPR-induced rib fractures and second-degree contact burns on her wrists and chest, but these will heal without complications. However, there are common sequelae of electrical injuries, such as peripheral nerve damage or difficulty with memory and concentration. We can't rule those out at this point…"

"Is she awake…?" Jane asks quietly, trying to let the prospect of Maura's full recovery drown her sorrows.

"Actually, no," the doctor shakes his head. "She was rather agitated when she came around, so we decided to keep her sedated for a while to alleviate the stress for her heart and—"

"Agitated?" Korsak frowns and worriedly peeks at Jane.

"Yes, she wasn't fully aware of her surroundings and tried to get up," the doctor explains. "She was panicking and she kept saying something like _'Don't do it, Jane…'_"

At the revelation, Jane bites her lip and turns away, suppressing a sob and fighting the emotions surging through her veins.

The doctor pauses in confusion. "Is she…?"

"She _is_ Jane," Korsak clarifies his partner's behavior. "She was, err, present when the incident happened…"

"I understand…" The physician checks his watch. "Well, Doctor Isles will be sleeping for a few more hours, but if you want to, you can see her in about thirty to sixty minutes."

"Alright, thank you," Korsak nods and shakes the doctor's hand before turning back to Jane. Struggling for words, he watches her pace up and down, biting her fingernails and staring at the ground.

Eventually, he steps closer, softly pats her back, tries to get her attention. "It doesn't mean she's blaming you, Jane…"

"Yeah, no, why would she?!" Jane retorts. "I just killed her… No big deal…"

"You did _not_ kill her," Korsak insists. "She's gonna make it, and I'm sure she'll understand what you did. You said she even asked you herself to do it—"

"Yeah, because she's always so damn selfless," Jane exclaims angrily. "I should have just… I don't know… I should have just ignored it and saved her… As her friend, it's my job to stop her from doing something stupid like that!"

Before Korsak can respond, his phone rings and he takes the call, worriedly keeping his eyes on the brunette. But as he listens to the caller, he suddenly freezes. "What?! … Okay, I'll be right there…" Confused, he looks at Jane and hangs up. "We got Steven McKee… He's downstairs…"

"What do you mean, _he's downstairs_?" Jane frowns as a fierce thirst for revenge supersedes her guilt. "He's here in the hospital?"

"Yeah," Korsak nods. "He's… dead."

…

…


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N:**__ Slightly behind schedule — sorry about that. Turns out I actually can't go without sleep for multiple days in a row. Bummer. To make up for it, this chapter is a bit longer. And it looks like the whole story will slightly exceed the 15 chapters I mentioned earlier. Originally, it was supposed to be only around 40K words. Whoops. Am I being wordy? :-o_

* * *

…

**Chapter 14 **

_**April 5/6, 2014**_

Moments later, Korsak and Jane are headed for the emergency admissions section on the hospital's ground floor. Despite being starved, exhausted, and guilt-ridden, Jane somehow manages to put one foot in front of the other without passing out on their way downstairs. Driven by a rapidly growing thirst for vengeance, she temporarily pushes her sorrows to the back of her mind, focuses on their case instead, and lets her anger fuel her tired bones and muscles.

When they reach the crowded emergency ward, whose involuntary visitors display the usual assortment of weekend injuries incurred by an unhealthy attraction to booze and barhopping, Korsak scans the room and searches for the cop who called him just minutes ago.

"Sergeant Korsak, over here!" a male voice calls out for him.

He and Jane turn around and are approached by an officer in uniform, a subtle hint of night-shift grumpiness flashing over his face.

"What happened? Where's McKee?" Korsak asks impatiently.

"We found him outside… Well, actually, the hospital staff found him outside," the officer explains as if he had all the time in the world. "They received an anonymous call informing them of a lifeless body in an ambulance parked right across the street. Turns out it was an ambulance that had been stolen a few weeks ago."

"And McKee was in there?" Jane pushes for more information, yearning to face at least one of the men who imposed that gruel dilemma upon her.

"Yeah, on the gurney in the back of the ambulance," the officer adds. "He was attached to life support equipment, but according to the doc who found him, he was clinically dead. And in his hand, he held an organ donor card and some sort of suicide note. Obviously, this wasn't an ordinary suicide but—"

"It was Howell," Jane frowns at Korsak. "He told me Steven wouldn't be around much longer and that he was going to say goodbye to him."

Korsak nods, then turns back to the officer. "What did this suicide note say?"

"Something about him feeling sorry about what he had done," the officer shrugs. "And in order to make up for it, he wanted to donate his organs to save some people's lives."

"You've gotta be kidding me…," Jane snorts at Howell's audacity, shaking her head in disbelief. "And where's his body now?"

"They've put him, uh, wait—" The officer spots a doctor behind the nurses' desk. "That's the doc who found him." He rushes over, taps the doctor's shoulder, and leads her to Jane and Korsak.

"We're looking for Steven McKee, the dead guy in the ambulance," Korsak informs the woman in blue scrubs.

"A lot of people seem to be looking for him," she replies, slightly confused.

"I'm Sergeant Korsak…" He flashes his badge, then points at Jane. "This is Detective Rizzoli. We're working this case."

"I see," the doctor understands. "Then I hope you can tell me what in the world is going on here! We've been told he was responsible for bomb threats and homicides?"

"Yeah, together with a partner," Korsak sighs. "And we assume it was this partner who delivered him to your hospital. McKee was dead when you found him?"

"He was, yes. We're waiting for the lab results, and the M.E. will look into this," the doctor explains. "But it appears that Mr. McKee was strangled to death, and then, after loss of brain oxygenation, his vital organs were kept alive by the life support equipment in the ambulance."

Still not quite at the top of her game, Jane tries to keep track of all this new information. "And that ambulance got stolen…?"

"Four or five weeks ago," the doctor nods. "If I remember correctly, several victims of a car crash were brought in at the same time, and there was chaos outside and inside. Somebody must have seized the moment and driven away with it. We reported it and filed all the paperwork, but the ambulance was never found… until today."

Korsak glances at Jane, eyebrows raised in concern. "Looks like Howell really thought of everything…"

Secretly wishing that McKee could be brought back to life just so she could kill him herself, Jane clenches her fists, her thirst for revenge growing stronger by the minute. "So, what are you gonna do about McKee's body? You gonna take his organs?"

"That's the million dollar question," the doctor sighs. "He is brain-dead — no cranial nerve reflexes, no pupillary response, no spontaneous respirations. However, assuming that the lab results won't indicate otherwise, his vital organs are in perfect condition for donation. So, for now, we'll keep his body alive and wait for clearance from the police, our legal team, and our ethics committee."

"Your ethics committee?" Korsak wonders.

"Yes, this is a delicate matter," the doctor confirms. "We can't just take a felon's organs without proper ethical review."

"Why not?" The sergeant shrugs. "A heart is a heart… If it's healthy, take it… Save somebody's life…"

"It's not that easy," the doctor objects. "Even though the donation process is anonymous, there are people who would rather die than live with the heart of a killer."

"But it's not our organs that define who we are…," Korsak argues while worriedly peeking at Jane, whose thoughts seem to have drifted off again.

As if sensing the sergeant's eyes on her, the brunette straightens herself and turns to the doctor. "I wanna see him."

"Why?" the doctor asks in surprise. "He's dead, Detective. He won't—"

"I don't care. I wanna see him," Jane insists, her voice almost cracking. "That man wanted me to kill my best friend. I wanna know who he is. I wanna see his face!"

Slightly intimidated by the fierce determination in Jane's eyes, the doctor looks at Korsak for support. When the sergeant simply nods, she gives in and leads the way. "Alright. Follow me."

A few minutes later, the doctor, Jane, and Korsak enter a small patient room in a quieter part of the emergency ward. Surrounded by life support equipment, including a ventilator machine and a monotonously beeping heart rate monitor, there is just one bed, and in it lies the lifeless body of Steven McKee.

Still debating her decision to ignore hospital policies and to allow the two detectives into the room, the doctor hesitantly steps aside and lets Jane approach the bed, while Korsak leans against the wall and anxiously watches his tormented partner. But he doesn't hold her back. He knows Jane needs this, needs to face McKee. In search for closure.

But as Jane stands next to the bed and looks down at McKee, she knows she won't find closure in this room. The Harvard student got an easy way out. He won't have to face his victims, he won't have to justify his actions, he won't have to live with the repercussions.

And as she studies every feature of his body — his dark hair, his pale skin from too many library hours, his sturdy hands that inflicted so much pain —, she can't help but wonder what it was that sent him over the edge. On the way to the hospital from McKee's house, Korsak gave her some information on the student's background, on his upbringing as an only child in a wealthy home, and on his parents, whose research regularly led them around the globe while a nanny took care of their son at home. But none of that was any justification for the way of life Steven had chosen for himself. And inevitably, Jane's thoughts return to Maura, who had suffered from that same benign neglect. But in contrast to McKee, she had turned into the kindest, most selfless woman Jane had ever met. And now Maura was lying upstairs in that same hospital, almost dead. Because of her. Because of what she has done. Because of what Howell and McKee have made her do.

And at the thought of that, Jane yearns even more for McKee to come back to life. Because she wants to yell at him. Because she wants to hit him and shove him hard against the wall and punch his pale face until her own knuckles would break.

But she can't yell at him, can't let him feel the intensity of her pain. All she can do is stand at his bedside and glare at his almost peacefully looking dead body. And it feeds the rage in her veins.

Clutching the bed frame with her hands, Jane bends forward, close to McKee's lifeless face, and hisses into his ear. "I hope you'll rot in hell, you son of a bitch!"

And finally, she can't hold it inside any longer. She needs to let off steam, needs to let her anger break free. And all of a sudden, she sends her fist flying into McKee's biceps, punches him twice, then kicks his bed with all the strength she has left.

But her violent outburst is over as quickly as it began. And before the startled doctor and Korsak can hold her back, she storms out of the room.

After a moment of shock, the doctor rushes over to the bed to make sure the life support equipment is still properly connected. "I knew this was a bad idea," she murmurs angrily as she checks all the machines keeping McKee's organs alive.

"I'm sorry…," Korsak apologizes quietly. "But she's been through a lot…"

"Please, just leave," the doctor demands while fixing McKee's intubation tube.

The sergeant nods without protest, casts one last glance at the dead student, and sneaks out of the room to search for Jane.

After having checked various hallways and corners in vain, he finally spots her right outside the emergency entrance, leaning against the balustrade, staring into the night and letting the fresh air cool her down.

For a minute or two, Korsak simply stands next to her, listens to the sounds of the city at night. He knows better than to confront Jane about the little scene she just made in McKee's room, and so he lets it pass without further comment.

Eventually, he checks his watch and gets his car keys out of his pocket. "If Howell dropped off McKee, it means he's still in the city… I'll get back to headquarters to organize the search…"

"I'm coming with you," Jane announces resolutely.

"No, you won't," Korsak shakes his head.

"Yeah, I will! I want to—"

"Jane, stay here," the sergeant looks at her insistently. "You won't be able to focus as long as you haven't talked to Doctor Isles, so go upstairs and wait for her to wake up. I promise I'll let you know as soon as we find Howell."

But regardless of how simple the sergeant's suggestion sounds, it cannot silence the accusatory voices gradually conquering Jane's mind again.

_I killed Maura. She trusted me, and I killed her._

And Jane remembers their night on the couch just a few days ago, when she told Maura that she would always save her, no matter what. But then when the going got tough, she didn't stick to her words.

_Instead, I killed her. What kind of friend am I?_

"I got this, Jane," Korsak assures her when he notices her hesitation. "Just go upstairs… It'll be alright."

Reluctantly, Jane nods. Even though the sergeant usually allows her all the liberties she needs, there are moments when he wouldn't hesitate to pull rank. And she knows that this is one of these moments.

"Fine… I'll see you later," she murmurs in defeat and trudges back inside.

Korsak watches her disappear, then turns around and hurries to his car. On the way, he whips out his cell phone and calls Officer Radnor's number. "Yeah, it's me, Korsak," he speaks into his phone. "Got any news for me?"

Attentively listening to the update from Officer Radnor, the sergeant squeezes himself onto the driver's seat of his car and speeds away.

…

…

Exactly seventeen minutes later, Jane finally arrives back on the third floor. While every other visitor worrying about a loved one could make it to this ward within a little more than twenty seconds, the guilt and self-accusations consuming Jane's mind turned out to have a significant effect on her sense of direction and on the path she chose to take towards Maura's room. But after intentionally avoiding all elevators, after taking the stairs at the far end of every hallway, after three stops in restrooms on different floors, and after walking all the way back downstairs only to ridicule herself for her cowardice before taking the same long path upstairs again, Jane eventually finds her way to the nurses' desk of Maura's ward.

Hesitantly, she approaches the night nurse, who's sorting through some patient files on her desk. "Excuse me… I'm looking for Maura Isles' room…"

Slightly startled, the nurse glances at the clock on the wall. "I'm sorry, visiting hours are—"

"The doctor said I could see her," Jane cuts her off and flashes her badge for emphasis. "I'm her… I'm a colleague."

Reluctantly, the nurse nods and points towards a section to the left. "Okay. Room 302, just around the corner."

"Thank you…" And as Jane follows the nurse's directions, she can't help but wonder whether this is what she and Maura will be from now on — _colleagues_. No more best friends. Just two acquaintances sharing happy memories with an unhappy ending.

_Because I killed her. Because I didn't choose Maura._

And when she reaches her room and sees Maura in her hospital bed, the painful certainty that this isn't just a bad dream breaks her heart once more. Even though Maura doesn't look severely injured — with the bandages on her wrists, a small patch over the cut on her eyebrow, and a purple bruise on her throat being the only clearly visible signs of what she's been through —, the blonde's face looks pale and worn out, and for the very first time, it lacks the peacefulness that Jane has secretly admired in the quiet hours of so many nights before.

_She's lying there because of me… If I had waited just a few minutes longer… If I hadn't introduced her to Howell… If she would have just stayed away from me…_

Fighting back her tears, Jane leans against the door frame and watches Maura sleep, trying to let the regular beeps of the heart rate monitor drown the voices of guilt screaming inside her own head. But it doesn't work.

_Why didn't I save her? Why did I push that damn button?! I could have saved her!_

"Are you alright?" The night nurse jolts Jane out of her thoughts as she enters the room during her hourly round.

"Huh, what?" Confused, Jane looks up and shyly wipes a tear from her eye.

"You can sit down if you want to…" The nurse points at a chair next to Maura's bed.

"No, it's… it's okay…," Jane objects drowsily.

After a quick check of the ECG and of the IV attached to Maura's right hand, the nurse scribbles down some notes on the medical chart hanging at the footboard of the bed. When she peeks at Jane on her way out and notices the brunette's distraught face, the nurse pauses next to the detective. "Don't worry, she's doing well. Everything will be alright."

Jane nods absentmindedly, but as soon as the nurse is gone, those scornful voices in her head get louder again.

_Nothing will be alright. Because I fucked up. Because I did this to Maura._

And finally, all that guilt becomes too much to bear.

Maybe Maura will blame her or even hate her when she wakes up, but right now, she is still asleep, and Jane needs her, needs to feel her, needs to assure herself that Maura is still alive. With two large strides, she is by Maura's side and sinks down on that chair. She encloses Maura's hand in her own, careful not to touch the bandage on her wrist, and feels for her pulse, feels the warmth, feels the life still pulsating in Maura's veins. And all those voices in her head momentarily calm down.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Jane studies the other woman's face, her exhausted features, the lines of worry on her forehead. Biting her lip, she wipes a strand of hair from Maura's face and lets the nearness of the sleeping blonde fill her with new strength.

"I know that geeky brain of yours is always awake…," Jane finally says. "So I just… I want you to know that I'm sorry for what I did…" She pauses for a few seconds, lets her fingers brush over Maura's hair while searching for words.

"I'm… I don't know why I did that… Everything just… it just happened so fast and… I don't even know whether you really wanted me to push that damn button… I mean… you get hives when you're lying… And you didn't get any… But still… I shouldn't have listened to you… I should have saved you…"

Swallowing hard at the memories of her darkest hour, Jane squeezes Maura's hand, yearning for that sense of safety that the touch of their hands has provided so often before. "And you didn't… you didn't get any hives either when you said you don't love me… at least not the same way that I love you… so… I don't know what that means for us… but if you're going to hate me for the rest of your life for what I did, then that's okay… I'm okay with that…"

Trying to push the implications of that last thought to the back of her mind, Jane rests her head on Maura's chest and listens to the steady beat of the other woman's heart. "I'm just glad you're still alive… That's the only thing that matters…"

And at least for a little while, Maura's heartbeat silences the voices of guilt in Jane's head. Losing herself in that much needed moment of peace, the brunette closes her eyes and instantly dozes off.

An hour later, when the night nurse stops by during her next round, Jane is still resting on Maura's chest, her hand subconsciously holding on to the blonde's. Smiling at the sight, the nurse grabs a spare blanket and carefully covers Jane's back before checking on Maura and then sneaking out of the room again.

After several hours and three more visits by the nurse, however, those haunting voices in Jane's mind refuse to stay silent any longer and abruptly rip her from her sleep. Dozily, she looks up until she recognizes her surroundings and the woman next to her. Maura is still sleeping and unaware of her presence, with those lines of worry still marking her forehead.

But as her detective senses slowly wake up as well, Jane's focus switches from her own worries to her case. After all, Howell is still out there. And she still wants to hunt him down and make him pay. For what he did to Maura, and to her, and to the both of them… If only Korsak would finally call and inform her of a break in their manhunt and—

Jane frowns and intuitively reaches for the empty cell phone case on her belt. And she remembers how the professor threw her phone into the trash cans at Maura's house.

"Crap…"

Determined not to let her only chance for revenge slip through her fingers, she gets up and stretches her stiff legs, all the while keeping her eyes on the blonde's sleeping face. Caringly, she traces Maura's hairline with her hand, caresses her cheek, brushes over her shoulder to let her feel that she is there. And she knows that the next time they'll meet, she'll have to take responsibility for her choice.

But for now, she suppresses that thought, leans forward, and places a soft kiss on Maura's cheek. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Maura…"

And without further words, she turns away and rushes out of the room, locking her affection for Maura in the depths of her heart and letting her anger take up the reins instead. And she instantly feels the change surge through her body when a wave of adrenaline tickles her veins, sharpens her senses, and makes her pulse race. This isn't just _any_ case. This one is _personal_. And very soon, Howell will learn what this means.

Just moments later, right after Jane left the room, the ECG that has been monitoring every beat of Maura's heart almost imperceptibly records a tiny hitch, and then another, and a third when Maura finally comes around. And even though the sedatives haven't fully worn off and she can hardly see anything else but blurred shapes and silhouettes, Maura recognizes a familiar scent still lingering in the air. And a glimmer of hope lights up in her heart.

"J-Jane…?"

But in contrast to too many similar occasions before, the room remains silent. This time, she is alone.

…

…

Around 6 a.m. on this Sunday morning, Jane parks her sedan at the curb in front of BPD, gulps down the rest of a lukewarm coffee, then hurries to the building's main entrance.

Fortunately, when she left the hospital about an hour ago, an officer in a patrol car was waiting outside after a bar fight incident that left two college kids with bursted lips, and he gave Jane a quick ride to Maura's Beacon Hill home, where she retrieved her gun and phone from the trash and reclaimed her car still parked in the driveway.

And as Jane now rushes up the stairs to the homicide squad room at BPD and lets her fingers brush over the cold steel of her gun in her holster, she is finally in her element again. This is what she does best. Chasing bad guys and locking them away. Bringing justice to those who can't speak for themselves. And hiding her own vulnerability by fighting for everybody else.

The precinct itself is still rather quiet when Jane enters the bullpen upstairs, but several officers and detectives are already gathered behind the glass doors of the BRIC. Some of them are typing away on their keyboards, another one is studying a map of Boston on the wall, and Sergeant Korsak towers in the middle of the room, his attention consumed by the large flat-screen monitors on the wall.

Eager to join the team, Jane steps inside. "Any news?"

"Jane? What are you doing here?" Korsak frowns in surprise. "I told you to—"

"I wanna help," she declares with determination, challenging the sergeant's authority.

Feeling everybody else's eyes subtly peeking at the two of them, Korsak gently shoves Jane back outside, follows her, and lowers his voice. "Have you talked to her?"

"Yeah… sort of," Jane confirms. And technically, it wasn't a lie.

The sergeant raises his eyebrow in suspicion. "And…?"

Annoyed, the brunette rolls her eyes. "Can we just focus on Howell right now?"

Korsak points at his team behind the glass doors. "Yes, _we_ are focusing on Howell. But _you_ should get some rest — you're too involved and—"

"Korsak, we can either waste time arguing about this or we can concentrate on the case." Jane pleadingly looks at her partner. "Please, let me help. I wanna find that sonofabitch!"

After another moment of careful consideration, Korsak shrugs and turns back around. "Alright, fine… come inside."

Once they have taken their seats behind a desk in the BRIC, Korsak browses through several files on his computer and updates Jane on the case. "We spotted Howell in the footage from surveillance cameras near Beth Israel when he took a cab last night. We got the license plate and talked to the driver. Said he had dropped him off near Downtown Crossing." He opens a map of downtown Boston. "Since Howell was forced to leave his house, we thought he might have booked a room somewhere, so we spent the night checking all hotels in the area… Got confirmation about an hour ago. Howell stayed in the DoubleTree on Washington Street, but under an alias." The sergeant sighs in disappointment. "When we got there, he had already checked out. Very early this morning…"

"Which means he could be on a bus or a train or even a plane by now…," Jane grunts and stares at the map on the screen, rubbing the bridge of her nose and trying to understand the professor's strategy. "He said he wanted the whole world to know what he did… But obviously, he can't go to a regular publisher… They'd probably feel a little uneasy about the fact that he killed a dozen people for his project…"

Korsak nods and leans back, pondering a thought that just entered his mind. "He told you there was a camera in that basement, right? Maybe he'll put up a video? On YouTube or something?"

"Wait… yes!" Jane tenses up and opens a Web browser. "He put up videos of all his lectures, too, and got himself a nice audience already. The perfect way to show the world what he's done…" But when she opens Howell's personal site, everything still looks the same. No new update in several days. "Hmm… okay, maybe not…"

"He might not have been able to upload anything yet…," Korsak suggests. "He was busy with McKee, and then he only had a few hours in the hotel…"

Nervously, Jane is tapping her fingers, attempting to jump-start her still tired brain. "Can we get the login data from his provider and monitor his Web space? If he logs in, we may be able to track his location…"

"Uh… I'm not really good at this…," Korsak grimaces sheepishly.

For a moment, Jane pauses and a shadow of grief flashes over her face. "Yeah… I wish Frost was here…"

"But I saw one of the digital forensic scientists in the hallway," the sergeant quickly adds, trying to focus on their task at hand. "I'm gonna get him and then we'll figure this out…"

"Okay…," Jane nods but then notices her partner's exhausted face. And she realizes that he must have been tirelessly at work for several days. "Hey, I'm gonna run down to the café — you want some bagels?"

"Would love that," Korsak smiles thankfully.

"Alright… you got it," Jane supportively nudges his arm as they both leave the BRIC. "I'll meet you back here in a few…"

…

…

Fifteen minutes and one highly annoying conversation with Stanley at the café later, Jane returns to the BRIC, carrying two cups of coffee and a bag of bagels in her hands. A young man in a white shirt and nerdy glasses has occupied her seat, letting his fingers fly over the computer's keyboard, while Sergeant Korsak is agitatedly speaking into his phone. "Yeah, send some units over there, but wait for us! We're on our way!"

"What's going on?" Jane wonders anxiously when the sergeant hangs up.

"Looks like we found him!" Korsak declares with excitement. "You were right!"

Instantly, Jane's pulse shoots up. "Howell?! What? Where?"

"We got in touch with his Web space provider, and smart Mr. Duenke here helped us get access to his account," the sergeant explains and pats the white-shirted guy next to him on his back. "Howell is currently uploading several large video files."

"And…?"

"We traced his IP — he's using the public WiFi at South Station," Korsak adds, then grabs his jacket and snatches the bag of bagels from Jane's hand. "I assume you wanna join us…?"

Fierce determination blazes up in Jane's eyes. "Hell, yeah."

…

…

Twenty minutes later, Jane, Korsak, and several backup officers get out of their cars at the South Station corner on Atlantic Avenue, grabbing their bulletproof vests and handheld radios, scanning the busy area around the historic station building, and getting ready for their early-morning mission.

Korsak checks his equipment while holding his phone to his ear with one hand. "Alright… Call me if anything changes…," he orders into the phone, then hangs up and turns to Jane, who's impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. "Officer Duenke is keeping an eye on Howell's WiFi connection," Korsak explains. "It'll take about fifteen more minutes until all his video files are uploaded, and so far, none of them are publicly accessible on his site. We'll block Howell's access to his account as soon as he's done uploading, but for now, we won't let him know that we're on to him."

Suddenly, a faint memory pops up in Jane's mind. "He said he wanted to go out with a bang…," she murmurs.

"What?" Korsak frowns in confusion.

"Howell told me he would have to resign from his professorship, but he wanted to go out with a bang," Jane adds. "What if he has planted another bomb?"

The sergeant uneasily fidgets with his bulletproof vest. "Why would he?"

"I don't know… I mean, he stuck to his rules during his stupid project, but now that it's over…," Jane bites her lip and worriedly looks at her partner. "He's an egomaniac — he wants recognition for his work… But nowadays, you don't even get your fifteen minutes of fame any longer. Today, it's more like fifteen seconds until the next viral thing pops up online. That's not enough for a guy like Howell. He needs more, so if he wants to get people's attention, he needs to do something big."

"You got a point there…," the sergeant admits. "After the Marathon bombing, Tsarnaev got over 60,000 followers on that Twitter thing in just a few hours… What the hell is wrong with people these days?"

"Don't ask me…," Jane shrugs.

Korsak takes a deep breath, lets his eyes wander over South Station's facade. "So, what do we do?"

"Make sure the situation doesn't escalate in case he's got a bomb at hand…" Jane checks her gun, letting the tingling excitement of their pending operation distract her from the other worries lurking in the back of her mind. "But if he's got a bomb somewhere else, he certainly won't tell us, so we'd better make sure he doesn't get a chance to set it off…"

Korsak nods in agreement, then gathers everybody around his car. "We don't know Howell's exact location, but we do know he's somewhere in there. Spread out, don't attract unnecessary attention! If you see him, secure the area and wait for backup! We've informed the station's security, and they're ready to assist as well."

Two dozen officers immediately follow his orders — some of them secure the different entrances and exits of the station, others inconspicuously sneak into the building with Korsak and Jane.

Once inside, the team splits up further to cover all levels of the transportation center — the train platforms, the bus terminal, and even the underground MBTA stops of the Silver Line buses and of the Red Line trains.

As soon as Korsak and the other officers mingle with the crowd and spread out into different directions, Jane seizes her chance and follows her own path through the station as well.

She knows that this is her only opportunity to get to Howell alone. And in contrast to Korsak and the other cops, she already has a pretty good idea where she might find him. Remembering Howell's arrogance and the cold-blooded madness in his eyes when he spoke about his plan, Jane heads for the cafés on the street level and lets her piercing eyes wander over the various tables and chairs. She knows that Howell isn't one to withdraw into a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. Instead, he would hide in plain view. Self-confident and convinced that he would never get caught. And he would be so sure of himself that he wouldn't even forego his morning coffee or some fancy caffè latte or whatever else would meet his elitist taste.

And then Jane's instincts prove her right once again when she spots the professor at a table for two in the middle of a café. With his hair dyed a shade darker, Howell's attention is focused on his notebook computer next to a cup of coffee and a plate of croissants, while his hands rest on a suspiciously looking briefcase on his lap.

Making sure that Korsak and the other cops are out of sight, Jane approaches the café and sneaks up on the professor from behind.

And after one last glance at her surroundings, she pulls back the other chair and sits down at Howell's table. Calm on the outside, burning with rage on the inside.

"Hello, Professor…"

…

…


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N:**__ Didn't get a chance to upload something sooner, so this is almost two chapters within one. I promise, I'll stop throwing obstacles at those poor ladies after this one. And I'm sure you're all super smart cookies who can figure out the location of the last bomb. Right?_

* * *

…

**Chapter 15**

_**April 6, 2014 (continued)**_

The professor looks up, his face unperturbed and composed, with the mere fluttering of his eyelids betraying his surprise. He squints at his unexpected breakfast companion, studies her face, ponders his next move.

Equally unemotional on the outside, Jane reaches for one of the croissants on Howell's plate and pointedly takes a large bite. And for a brief moment, a chilling silence engulfs the table as the two equals patiently wait for the stalemate to break.

"Nice day for a trip out of the city, huh?" Jane remarks dryly after gulping down the croissant.

Unimpressed, Howell leans back, glances at his computer screen, then fixes his gaze on the detective. But he doesn't speak.

"Let me guess, you're not a fan of buses," Jane continues to provoke him, checking the station clock in Howell's back and secretly counting down the minutes. "You prefer trains… The whole tracks-and-trolleys experience, huh? Got another experiment planned today?"

"Why would I? My study is complete." A mischievous smile plays on the professor's lips at the thought of his work, boosting his confidence and reminding him of the detective's weakness. "And I have to say, I was impressed with your decision. I was almost sure you'd save Doctor Isles."

"Then I guess you're not the genius that you think you are…," Jane retorts quietly, suppressing the urge to leap up and ram her fist into her opponent's sleazy face.

"How is the good doctor, by the way?" Howell adds sardonically. "Is she very mad at you?"

Feeling her stomach tense up, Jane reaches for another croissant, momentarily averting her eyes. "Nope, everything's fine."

"If everything were fine, you wouldn't be sitting at this table right now," the professor points out, feasting on the detective's sudden uneasiness. "You'd be with her, but instead, you're here… On this apparent one-woman revenge mission… Because you've got nowhere else to go."

Clenching her fingers into the croissant's fluffy dough, Jane takes another bite, swallows down her anger.

"See, that's the problem with those moral dilemmas," Howell explains didactically. "Even if you're doing the right thing, people will still hate you. Simply because you're doing what everybody else is too afraid to do… But I think you already know that by now, don't you?"

Jane finally looks up from her croissant. "Meaning what exactly?"

"Well, you're here without your colleagues, aren't you? Willing to take me down because you know that everybody else will follow protocol. But you want your revenge, and you think it's the right thing to do. And you're not afraid to do it." Waiting in vain for a reaction from the detective, Howell shrugs and holds up his briefcase. "I have to warn you though, I've got my life insurance right here."

"You really think I'd fall for that old trick?" Jane snorts, poised to gain the upper hand again. "If you got a bomb in there, then I suggest you set it off right now, while you still can." And with a certain melancholy gripping her heart, she realizes that she's got nothing to lose anymore. "Come on, let's do this! Blow us all up!"

But Howell hesitates.

"I knew it…," Jane shakes her head in disgust. "You don't have the guts to trigger your bombs yourself. You're so predictable."

"Well, now what?" The professor raises his eyebrow in disdain, knowing that two can play this game. "You're just going to shoot me? Right here, in front of everybody else? Fine, let's have it! Come on, just do it then!"

And this time, it is Jane who hesitates.

"See, that makes us both predictable," Howell smirks. "I'm sure you've come here convinced that you could shoot me in cold blood. Right? But cops don't shoot unarmed people. And you just can't rid yourself of that instinct, can you? That damn cop instinct that made you save those people in Fenway and kill Doctor Isles…"

"Is that why you chose me? Because I'm a cop…?" Jane asks angrily, losing her cool at the memory of her decision in that basement.

"Well, because of that and because you're a woman," the professor admits and delightfully sips his coffee. "I didn't want my study to be accused of any sort of androcentric bias, so I needed suitable female candidates as well. And I've always wanted to use a law enforcement officer for the last scenario. We actually had our eyes on a number of candidates, but then you walked into my office with your partner and—"

"Doctor Isles is not my partner," Jane protests impulsively. "We're colleagues. You should've done your damn research first!"

"Do you tell all your colleagues that you love them?" Howell smiles knowingly. "Do you also spend the night at your other colleagues' houses? Or bring them soup when they're sick?"

Jane swallows hard at the realization that it must have been her own actions that put Maura's life at risk, that she could have prevented this if she had only kept her distance.

"Trust me, we _did_ do our research first," the professor insists. "Steven was very thorough when it came to his work."

Trying to regain her composure, and to remind herself why she was here, Jane seizes the mention of Steven to take control of the conversation again. "So, I guess you just don't like to share credit, eh? Is that why you killed him off? To get the spotlight for yourself? And then you disguised it as some sort of benevolent gesture… Donating his organs to save some lives… Give and take? You really think it's that easy?"

"Why? It's only logical," Howell nods, utterly at ease with himself. "Think about it: As soon as Steven would have gotten caught and convicted, he would have spent the rest of his life behind bars, being a burden to the taxpayers and society. But by donating his organs, he contributed something of actual value and made amends for some of the less pleasant things he has done. But of course, our correctional institutions would never dare to harvest the organs of criminals. And see, that's exactly my point — people are too afraid to do the right thing. But I am not."

"If you're so sure that you're doing the right thing, then why are you running away?" Jane shoots the professor a challenging glare. "Just tell people what you've done and let them judge you."

"Oh, I'm not running away," Howell objects. "But I've got meetings to attend with esteemed colleagues around the world who are highly interested in my scientific approach." He finishes his coffee, then glances at his computer screen again. "And I can assure you that the rest of the world will soon learn about my work, too. But history proves that the public is often not very kind to its contemporary revolutionaries… Galileo, Van Gogh, Poe, Oppenheimer — none of them were treated with appropriate respect during their lifetime. I don't intend to share their fate and become a victim of the initial outrage over my project. But as soon as the public begins to appreciate the value of my study, I'll be happy to appear for a Q&A."

"The value of your study?" Jane barely manages not to break into laughter. "What exactly do you think you've achieved with all of your so-called _research_?"

For a few moments, the professor studies the detective, like the master scrutinizing his disciple before revealing the secrets of life. "There is a famous conversation between Socrates and Callicles, in the _Gorgias_, where Callicles warns Socrates that philosophy can be a nice toy if used in moderation but that it will be our ruin if we philosophize without end. He urges him to stop wasting his time on petty quibbles and to lead an active life and to get real instead."

His voice filling with passion as he indulges in the subject matter to which he has devoted his life, Howell takes another sip from his coffee and continues his lecture. "And this is exactly what my study will allow people to do. For centuries, philosophers from Aristotle to the likes of Bentham, Kant, and Locke have debated these scenarios and the morality of the choices we make. But it doesn't matter what we _claim _we would do. The only thing that does matter is what we _actually do_ when confronted with such a choice. And now, we know. When it truly matters, we do what has to be done and we stick to our beliefs. The average Joe decides based on _good vs. bad _and _few vs. many_. The businessman calculates the value of life like his company's yearly revenue. The district attorney shoots the felons. The devoted husband stands by his wife. And the cop saves those who can't save themselves. Because sometimes we have to make tough choices. And we've all been trained and conditioned in one way or another to do what has to be done."

"Fantastic," Jane snorts, peeking at the clock in Howell's back, safe in the knowledge that she won't have to hold back her anger much longer. "Want to remind me again why we actually need to know that?"

"Don't you understand?!" Howell wonders, annoyed by his opponent's apparent lack of interest in his achievement. "Now, we can move on and look at the consequences in _real life. _We can stop pointing fingers when soldiers cause collateral damage, when medical researchers sacrifice the health of the few for the well-being of the many, when some people get thrown under the bus for the good of society as a whole. Now, we can stop wasting our time with theoretical arguments, and we can finally do what Callicles already suggested many centuries ago. We can finally _get real_!"

Jane shrugs, aware that her display of disinterest will make Howell's blood boil. And she loves the thought of that. "There's just one small detail you've overlooked, Professor…"

"And what would that be, _Detective_?"

"The world will never know about your little project."

"Of course, it will," Howell frowns in confusion, then turns his attention to his computer. "In fact, the whole thing will go viral within the next minute." But suddenly, he freezes and stares at the screen in disbelief.

And Jane will never forget his face. "Is there a problem?"

Panic fills the professor's eyes as his fingers desperately hammer at his keyboard. "What have you done?"

"Whoops, guess I forgot to mention that we've seized your account. But _thank you _for your very vivid confession." Pointedly, Jane reaches into her pocket and reveals a voice recorder. "It'll save us a lot of time later on."

"You fool!" Howell hisses wrathfully. "If I don't publish these videos, there's going to be another explosion tomorrow!"

But the detective remains calm, enjoying every second of the professor's despair. "And how do you intend to set it off when you're locked up in a cell, where you'll be spending the rest of your miserable life?"

"I won't have to set it off! Not this time!"

"You said your study was complete…"

"It is!" Howell cries in anger. "But the best way to get people's undivided attention is to make them part of the game. But thanks to you, there won't be any winners tomorrow!"

And suddenly, Jane feels overcome by the haunting realization that the professor may not be bluffing. "Where is it?! Where is that bomb?!"

But now it is the professor who has nothing left to lose. And so he just shrugs. "Looks like you screwed up after all, Detective…"

Before Jane gets any chance to react, a young waitress approaches their table and politely smiles at Howell. "Would you like some more coffee, sir?"

"No, thank you," Howell denies, then squints at Jane, a spontaneous plan taking shape in his mind. "I think we're done here…"

And without further warning, he jumps up with his briefcase, forcefully pushes the waitress into Jane, and storms off.

Almost toppling over in her chair, Jane clutches at the table for balance, shoves the waitress out of the way, and runs after the professor.

And then she chases him, fueled by anger and never letting him out of her sight, intuitively avoiding all obstacles in her way.

Towards the station's main entrance — until Howell spots the two cops blocking his escape.

Towards the escalators downstairs — a futile plan thwarted by too many tourists taking their time.

Towards the other end of the main concourse — with Howell using his briefcase to violently clear his way.

Towards the train platforms outside — where chilly April winds greet the fugitive and the fierce detective on his heels.

With every stride, Jane gets a little closer. Finds her way through the many people gathered on the platforms.

And Howell knows he needs to keep her at bay. Breathing hard, he spots a woman waiting for her train. Right ahead of him. Perfect!

Without hesitation, he pushes that woman onto the tracks, ignores her panicky scream at the sight of an oncoming train, and simply runs on.

And Jane wishes she could do the same. But she can't. Instead, she stops at the platform's edge, holds out her hand to help that woman back up. Until other bystanders rush to her side and aide in her efforts. Until she notices Korsak and the rest of her team burst through the station's doors, alerted by the commotion. And she knows it's now or never.

Her eyes dart back into Howell's direction. Frantically, she scans the far end of the platforms. And there he is, headed for the bus terminal building.

Jane scrambles to her feet, ignores Korsak calling from behind, resumes her pursuit of the professor. Like a hunter chasing his prey.

When she reaches the emergency stairwell of the bus terminal building at the end of the platforms, Howell has already disappeared inside. She follows him, hears his steps a few feet above, gains new determination at the sound of him wheezing upstairs.

Taking two steps at a time, out of breath and ignoring the stinging pain in her lungs, Jane makes her way up, catches a glimpse of Howell's dark suit, reaches for her gun. She's close. So close.

Then she reaches the top of the building, and there's just one door leading to a parking lot outside.

She rips it open, storms through the door — and into Howell's briefcase.

He smashes it into her right temple, almost knocks her out. And for a second, everything goes dark.

But her thirst for revenge is stronger than her pain, and it keeps her awake, allows her fingers to find her gun, helps her aim it at the professor as he's running away. But her vision is blurred. Too heavy was the blow of his case.

"You won't get away!" she yells into his direction.

Howell is trying nonetheless. But Jane is blocking his way back down, and he knows he is trapped. Until he spots the scaffolding at the other end of the parking lot. Sending repeated glances over his shoulder at the detective following close behind, the professor covers the distance to the edge of the roof. A quick glance at the scaffolding suffices to feed his determination. All he needs to do is climb down one or two levels and slide back into the building. And then there'll be buses and people and so many ways to escape.

He hops onto the scaffolding, hurries down the metal planks towards the makeshift ladder to the level below.

But then the whole structure shakes as Jane follows him onto the planks, closes in on him, one hand on the railing and the other close to her gun in its holster.

Barely a shadow of his confident self, Howell keeps his eyes on Jane but still doesn't stop.

A mistake.

With a loud creaky noise, a loose plank in front of the professor breaks from its mounting and sweeps him off his feet. He drops his briefcase, tumbles and falls, clings on to a metal bar, his legs already dangling over the edge of the teetering plank. But unlike his briefcase, he doesn't plunge towards the ground almost fifty feet below — because Jane is still standing on the other end of that plank, her weight securing a fragile balance.

At least for now.

But the whole scaffolding is shaking, unstable and threatening to break apart. And they would both fall to their death.

"Kind of ironic, isn't it?" Jane glares at the professor, who is helplessly holding on to his life. She points at the rails for the Amtrak trains below. "It all ends on some tracks…"

Panic fills the professor's eyes as he is desperately trying to tighten his grip on that metal bar. "You won't do this…"

"You were right about one thing. I couldn't have shot you back in there," Jane admits, glancing at the widening gap between the scaffolding and the building's edge. "But I'm under no obligation to save you right here, right now."

And Howell knows that this is it. This is his end.

"Goodbye, Professor."

Without further hesitation, Jane steps off that plank. And thus, the balance shifts.

With a stifled cry, Howell plunges into oblivion, leaving behind nothing but his distorted dead body on the tracks fifty feet below.

And for a moment, Jane simply stands frozen to her spot, letting the sight of Howell's lifeless remains smother her anger. But it doesn't feel as satisfying as she hoped it would. It doesn't provide anything but some fleeting relief for her enduring pain.

Exhausted and spent, she turns around and trudges back towards the building's edge.

But suddenly, the wind rattles the scaffolding and shakes the whole structure once again.

Instinctively, Jane leaps towards the building, reaches the edge with her arms, and holds on tight, her feet searching for support. And as she dangles between life and death, she realizes just how much pain she is actually in. From her throbbing head, and from her empty stomach, and from her tired bones. But most of all, from the emptiness in her heart.

And for an instant, she wonders how easy it would be to let go — no more nightmares, no more guilt, no more heartache. The thought is tempting.

But then she thinks of Maura. Inevitably. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she hears her calling her name, begging her not to do this, urging her to hold on. And despite everything that is currently keeping them apart, she listens to that voice and refuses to let go.

With trembling arms, Jane pulls herself up, over the parking lot's wall, and into the arms of two officers who have just reached the edge and drag her back to safety.

Out of breath, she sinks to her knees. Panting. Shaking. Yearning to just close her eyes and fall asleep. Right there on the stony concrete of the lot. And the next minutes turn into nothing but blurred memories as she crouches on the ground and ignores the flurry of activity unfolding at the scene.

"Jane, are you alright?" Korsak worries as he finally steps to her side.

"Yeah, fine…," she murmurs and squints at the sergeant.

"Geez, tell that to your face!" he gasps at the sight of the darkening bruise around her eye. "Why the hell didn't you call for backup?"

Jane shrugs. "I guess there wasn't enough time…"

"Not enough time my ass!" Korsak shakes his head. "You've put the whole operation at risk."

"Want my badge?" she suggests weakly as the sergeant helps her up.

"No… I would've done the same…," Korsak admits sheepishly. "But still… Technically, I'm your superior, and I don't like you pulling stunts like that behind my back."

"Sorry…"

"Tell you what, coffee and bagels are on you for the next two weeks, and we'll be even."

"Uh, but you eat a lot of bagels, Korsak…" Jane raises her eyebrow in feigned shock but then notices her partner's serious face. "Fine… deal."

The sergeant peeks over the building's edge and watches several officers block off the tracks below and secure the area around the spot where Howell's dead body lies. "Alright, let's go down there and get this mess sorted out…"

"No, wait," Jane holds him back. "Howell said there was another bomb, and it would go off tomorrow unless he published his videos. We have to get back to headquarters and check those damn files. Maybe there's a clue in there…"

For a moment, Korsak worriedly studies Jane's face. "Alright, I'll inform everybody else," he decides and hands her his keys. "Go wait in the car. You look like you're about to pass out again… I'll be there soon. And call Officer Duenke at the station and tell him to get those videos ready…"

"Okay…," Jane mutters absentmindedly as she trudges away.

…

…

Two hours later, Jane is back at BPD Headquarters, alone in the break room with her laptop, and watching the first video file. It's an introduction by the late Professor Howell himself.

"Philosophy unsettles us by presenting what we already know in a new way," the professor explains. "It makes the familiar look strange. Thereby it provides and evokes a new way of seeing. And such newly gained self-knowledge is like lost innocence — no matter how unsettling you find it, it can never be 'unthought'. The videos you are about to watch may seem equally strange at first, possibly even unsettling. But they will reveal human nature at its best. Or at its worst — depending on your interpretation. And they will help you look at your fellow citizens from a new perspective. They will help you understand how all important decisions are made. And they will prepare you for the kinds of choices that you, as Harvard alumni, will inevitably have to make throughout your future careers as the leaders of this world."

Shaking her head at the professor's delusions of grandeur, Jane reaches for a water bottle on the table and reluctantly continues to watch.

"In order to put you into the right frame of mind, I've added a little incentive to these videos. Each of them includes a number of clues to a specific location here in this wonderful city of Boston. It is a place that many of you are familiar with, but it is presented in a strange new way. That's how philosophy works. If you identify this location in time, then I shall trust your bright minds and your ability to lead us into a better future. But if you fail, an explosive device at this very location shall remind you of the importance of an open and inquisitive mind."

Before Jane can switch to the next video, Korsak enters the break room and hands her a small plastic bag filled with ice cubes for her eye. "I just got a call from the bomb squad. They found the bomb at Fenway… Was hidden in the supplies in one of the Fenway Franks stands in the concourse… Could've been really nasty had it gone off."

Pressing the bag against her skin and flinching at the coldness of the ice, Jane simply nods at the new information.

"Why are you in here and not in the BRIC?" Korsak wonders and peeks at her computer screen.

"Duenke and the other guys don't need to see what he did to Maura, so I'm gonna check these videos myself," Jane declares resolutely but then frowns as Korsak pulls back a chair to sit down. "What are you doing?"

"We can either watch these videos together in here or with everybody else in the BRIC." There is no doubt about the sergeant's determination. "But I'm not gonna let you do this alone."

Sensing that any resistance would be in vain, Jane nods and hesitantly starts the next video. "Howell was a real nutjob. He truly believed he was doing this all for the greater good."

"I guess too many hours in a sticky library can do that to you…," Korsak muses. "So what are we looking for?"

"Supposedly, the videos contain clues leading to a location in Boston. And if we don't find it in time, that location will be blown into pieces…"

They both fall silent when the video shows that infamous basement, where Orlando Diaz is tied to a chair with a noose around his neck, waiting until Felix Johnson enters and ponders his decision.

And then fragmented words and phrases appear on screen, at irregular intervals, sometimes at the bottom, sometimes at the top — forcing the viewer to pay attention throughout. Howell made sure his work would not go unnoticed.

After they have watched five of six videos, Jane pauses the media player and studies the list of clues scribbled down on a notepad in her hands.

_Taxation without representation is tyranny.  
__Which former mayor of Boston has his own market?  
__Victoria was my queen — Victoria, Victoria, Victoria.  
__Oh, Athena, why are you mourning?  
__What follows after ABC is all Greek to me._

"Geez, that's like a _Times _crossword puzzle…," she sighs.

"Hate to say it, but I've never been able to solve those," Korsak admits as he glances at the list.

"Well, then let's make this your first successful attempt." Jane nervously taps her pencil against the paper. "We'll figure this out."

"Let's watch that last video — maybe the clue in there is easier…," the sergeant suggests.

"No, come on, we can do it with those five!" Desperately, Jane focuses on her task. "The first one obviously refers to the Revolution, so maybe it's a building somewhere along the Freedom Trail?"

"Jane, let's—"

"And the second one can't be that hard… Come on, Google!" She opens her browser and searches for a list of former Boston mayors. "Quincy! That's Quincy Market."

"That would be too easy," Korsak objects. "What about the other clues? Maybe it's some building close to Quincy Market?"

Jane scratches her head in confusion. "Victoria… Athena… something Greek…"

"Uh, no, wait, the third one is actually from a song by the Kinks." The sergeant strikes up the song, though his ability to hit the right notes leaves much to be desired.

"Okay, okay, I get it… bonus points for your singing," Jane motions him to stop. "Can you also tell me what it means?"

"Nope…"

For a few moments, they simply stare at the list of clues, but eventually, Jane tosses her pencil onto the table. "Damn it!"

"Whether you like it or not, we need the clue from that final video," Korsak points out quietly. "I'll watch it alone if you don't want to—"

"No, I'll watch it!"

"Jane, I know you want to protect Doctor Isles, but I'm your partner. You can trust me."

"I know." Pleadingly, Jane faces the sergeant. "And if you trust me, too, you will let me watch it alone…"

Hesitantly, Korsak nods and gets up. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Once the sergeant has left the room, Jane takes a deep breath and hits the play button.

And with every frame of that last video, more and more memories are flooding back into her mind. Memories of how she woke up in that empty cold room in the basement. How she found Maura on that chair in the cell. How her handcuff key missed the chair's seat. How she begged Maura not to give up. How she told Maura that she loved her. And how she killed her.

Even without the gruesome images mercilessly filling her screen, Jane would remember every single second she spent in that damn basement. And the film playing in her mind is stuck on endless repeat. There is no way to pause it. No stop button. No way to turn it off.

About fifteen minutes later, the video on her computer is over, and Jane's eyes are filled with tears. But she has gathered the information she needs. Biting her lip, she squints at the last clue she's written down.

_And we shall be inspired by the greatness of Christopher Wren._

And suddenly, Jane knows the location. She scribbles it below the list of clues, shuts down the computer, and rushes out of the room.

When she almost bumps into Korsak right outside, she thrusts the crumpled paper into his hand. "You'll find the bomb there," she adds with a broken voice before bolting away.

Confused, the sergeant looks at the paper, then at Jane. "Wait, where are you going?!"

"I need to get outta here." Without looking back, she disappears down the stairs.

Remaining behind all by himself, Korsak unfolds the paper, recognizes the location, and whips out his cell phone to send the bomb squad on their way.

…

…

As the late afternoon sun dips the whole city in a warm and golden glow, Jane's sedan is parked right across the street from Beth Israel, and she is motionlessly sitting in the driver's seat, watching patients, visitors, and EMTs come and leave as the minutes go by. And she knows she should just get out of her car, rush up the stairs to the third floor, and face the woman who almost died because of her. The woman she loves. But the haunting memories of her decision in that basement are still swirling through her mind. Maybe, if their feelings were mutual, there would be a chance for forgiveness. But Maura said she didn't love her back. And thus, Jane has no hope for redemption and instead stays in her car. Alone with her guilt.

Suddenly, the beeping of her phone breaks the silence. Wearily, Jane reaches for the device and checks the new text from Sergeant Korsak.

_Found it. You were right.  
__It's over.  
__Vince  
__P.S.: I'm here if you wanna talk._

Somewhat relieved, she rests her head on the steering wheel and closes her tired eyes.

_It's over._

But this time, it is not just the case that is over.

_No more shared bagels in the morning, no more movie nights on the couch, no more carefree banter with Maura. Because I killed her. And because she doesn't love me back._

Another buzzing sound from her phone jolts her from her thoughts. She glances at the caller ID on the display, heaves a sigh, but then answers the call.

"Hey, Ma…"

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she listens to her mother's worried rant, trying to get a chance to speak.

"No, I'm alright… Yes, really… It's just a black eye…"

Patiently, she endures another lecture about the dangers of her job from the Rizzoli matriarch at the other end of the line.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine! … No, I'm not cranky! Just tired…"

But then Jane's eyes fill with sadness.

"No, I haven't had a chance yet to visit her…" She pauses for a second, hesitates. "But since you mention it… Could you, uh… Could you stop by the hospital and make sure Maura is alright? I'm kinda stuck at work…" She ignores her mother's inevitable protest. "No, really, I can't leave work right now… It's… I wish I could go there myself, but I can't…"

Relief flashes over her face when the elder Rizzoli woman apparently gives in.

"Okay, thanks, Ma. I gotta go… Bye."

Cursing at her own cowardice, she hangs up, turns off the phone, and tosses it onto the passenger seat. And after one last glance at the hospital, she starts her car and drives off.

…

…

The sun is still glowing on the horizon, its receding rays of light tickling the hospital's windows, when Maura stirs in her bed and squints at her surroundings. Even though she has been awake a few times before, it still takes her several seconds to remember where she is and why she is here. But then she does remember, and she instantly yearns to regain that fallacious comfort of forgotten memories. Because the images pouring back into her mind bring with them the somber certainty that nothing will ever be the same.

And the emptiness of the room confirms her fears. There is no one sitting at her bedside, no one waiting for her to wake up, no one holding her hand or making jokes about her slightly slurred speech caused by the sedatives' residual effect. It used to be their ritual. Hers and Jane's. Whether it was after she had donated her kidney, or after Jane had shot herself, or after any of the other more or less serious incidents that had landed one of them in a hospital bed — they were always there for each other. But not this time.

Burying her head in her pillow, Maura wonders whether she could ever expect Jane to be there for her again. After she denied her true feelings… After she discarded Jane's begging and pleading… After she chose death over Jane… And after she even forced her to push that button…

The thought of the torment that her request must have caused Jane finally breaks the courageous resistance of her normally weak-minded amygdala and sends her lacrimal glands into overdrive. Trying in vain to hold back her tears, Maura pulls her blanket up to her chin and emptily stares out of the window. For minutes on end.

Until there is a soft knock on her door.

But the glimmer of hope spontaneously lighting up in her heart instantly dies when she turns around and finds the wrong Rizzoli woman at her side.

"Angela… What are you doing here?"

"I was worried, of course. Are you alright?"

Shyly wiping a few tears from her eyes, Maura sits up and tries to hold the Rizzoli matriarch's gaze. "My doctor said I'll be fine… After electrical injuries, there's always the risk of delayed arrhythmias, so they're keeping me here for another night… It's just a precaution…" She glances at the ECG still monitoring every beat of her heart, and she can't help but wonder whether the machine also recorded how her heart broke every time she thought of Jane.

"Well, as soon as you get home, we'll pamper you all day and you won't have to lift a finger," Angela promises cheerfully but then wrinkles her forehead at the blonde's prolonged silence. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yes… I'm just tired…," Maura sighs, subconsciously fidgeting with the bandages on her wrists.

But after so many years, Angela has a fairly good idea of what is really going on in Maura's mind. "Jane is stuck at work… That's why she couldn't come…"

Instantly, Maura tenses up under her blanket as she feels the elder woman's curious eyes study her face. And she knows she won't be able to keep up her charade for much longer. "I'm… I don't want to be rude, but… I'm just really exhausted and could use some sleep…"

"Oh, yes, sure…," Angela nods and rearranges Maura's pillows as her motherly instincts kick in. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No, no, it's fine," Maura shakes her head. "I don't want to cause you any inconvenience…"

"Honey, you're not an _inconvenience_ to me," the Rizzoli matriarch assures her and reaches for her hand. "You're like my daughter, too…"

And when she notices the affectionate look in Angela's eyes, Maura realizes that her choice in that basement will ultimately break so much more than just her best friend. And she would give everything to be able to turn back time and prevent all of their lives from falling apart.

"What? Why are you crying?" Angela frowns with concern as tears begin to stream down Maura's face.

"Could you please just go…?" Maura begs in between two sobs.

But Angela Rizzoli has never been one to walk away when one of her children — whether related by blood or by choice — is in need. And therefore, she stays. Resolutely, she pulls Maura into her arms. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong."

And as she is wrapped in the warmth of the elder woman's embrace, Maura finally gives up her fight and lets it out all. "I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake…"

…

…

When the night finally falls upon Boston and ends the most horrible week of her life, Jane is still in her car, aimlessly driving around. Because Howell was right. Because she really has nowhere to go.

And thus, she just keeps on cruising through the night, trying to drown her thoughts with the help of a local station blaring on her radio. But even at maximum volume, it cannot silence the voices in her head. And when the first chords of Nina Simone's _Sinnerman_ fill the air, Jane almost breaks into desperate laughter at the poignant truth of its lyrics.

_Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?  
Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?  
Where you gonna run to? _

And Jane wonders where she could run to… Where she would find forgiveness… Where she would ever find peace…

_I run to the rock,  
please, hide me  
__I run to the rock,  
__please hide me, Lord  
__All along dem day_

And as her thoughts merge with the lyrics, it almost sounds like the song was about her…

_Oh Sinner Jane, where you gonna run to?  
Sinner Jane, where you gonna run to? _

But she does not know the answer… She just keeps on driving… Without any destination… Lost in her thoughts and sorrows…

And then, somehow, she finds herself in South Somerville. In front of the house. The house with the basement. Where everything began. And where everything ended.

Numbed by her loneliness, she stumbles out of her car, teeters towards the door to the basement, rips off the yellow tape, and steps inside. In search for answers. Or forgiveness. Or a way to turn back time.

But all she finds within the cold confines of that basement is a set of crime scene evidence markers and a pair of used EMT gloves forgotten in a corner.

And for a while, Jane once again leans against those metal bars of the cell, wondering how she could have changed the outcome of that night. What if she had refused to push that button? What if she had just waited a little longer? Or what if she had properly thrown that damn handcuff key?

Almost in trance, she reaches for the very same key from her pocket, blinks through her teary eyes, and aims for the chair. And then she throws the key again. And it misses again. Determined, she collects the key from the ground next to the chair, steps out of the cell again, and throws it once more. And misses again.

And so she tries again. And again. And again. Like a broken record.

Until the key finally lands right on the chair's seat.

But it doesn't change anything.

And thus, Jane sinks to the ground, pulls her legs close to her chest, buries her head in her arms, and silently cries in the solitude of the basement.

_Oh Sinner Jane, where you gonna run to?  
Sinner Jane, where you gonna run to? _

…

…


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N:**__ Uh oh, looks like none of you figured out the bomb's location (the solution will be in the next chapter). No detective badges for you then. And no cookies! But thanks for the new reviews/PMs/favs. They make up for your lack of investigative skills. :-))  
__I'll try to stretch the ending since you've stuck with this for so long. No need to rush now, eh? And apparently, I've lost my ability to write shorter chapters… Let me know if they're getting too long…  
__P.S.: At Guest reviewer: Nope, I currently don't post anywhere else. Just dipping my toes into the fanfic ocean right here._

* * *

…

**Chapter 16**

_**April 7, 2014**_

Around 9 a.m., as the early April sun's vitalizing rays of light are guiding most of Boston into a new day, into a whole new week, Jane's apartment is still enshrouded in darkness, with the shutters closed, the lamps turned off, and only a faint shimmer of light falling in through a crack in the kitchen window curtains.

Barely discernible in the darkness surrounding her, Jane is slouching on one of the stools next to her kitchen counter, her legs dangling on either side and somehow securing her balance on the seat, while her head is buried in the crook of her left arm on the counter. Her right arm is sprawled out between the crumbs of a half-eaten bag of pretzels and a cup of cold coffee, her hand desperately clutching a picture frame with a photo of her and Maura in their running outfits, smiling into the camera after an eventful day at the Massachusetts Marathon almost exactly five years ago.

After spending half the night in that damn basement, crying in the bleakness of the cell and waiting in vain for redemption, Jane had somehow found her way back to her apartment, miraculously managing not to crash her car in her somnambulant state, and only motivated to return home by the gut-wrenching image of Jo Friday sitting patiently by her bowl and waiting to be fed. But once she had taken care of the little Yorkshire terrier and made up for her absence with an appropriate amount of cuddling and scratching her between the ears, Jane was once again alone with her thoughts, without any distraction, without anyone to call. Because the one person always willing to take her calls, no matter what time of day or night, was lying alone in a hospital bed. Because of her decision in that basement two days ago. Because she had decided to kill Maura.

And thus, sleep was not an option, for it would lead to another encounter with the shadows lurking in her mind, threatening to pull her deeper and deeper into that dark abyss every time she closed her eyes. Instead, she ended up taking a long hot shower — which helped cleanse her body but not her soul —, then passed three long hours cleaning every nook and cranny of her place — which resulted in an uncomfortably sterile apartment and made her shudder at the realization that she was slowly turning into her mother —, followed by another fifteen minutes of standing motionlessly in the shower, letting the water run down her skin and wondering how things had gone so terribly wrong.

Eventually, at some point between dawn and the first noise from her neighbors getting ready for work, the perpetual feelings of guilt clouding Jane's mind were once again contested by the subtle certainty that, sooner or later, she would have to face Maura. And this morning would be the last chance to do so in the hospital. On neutral ground. Determined to seize that chance and to overcome her ridiculous cowardice, she changed into a pair of sweatpants and one of her BPD T-shirts and got ready for a quick morning run to help clear her mind.

But as she was waiting for her piping hot coffee to cool down, her eyes fell on that photo of Maura and herself in that picture frame on her bookshelf, and on the happiness in both of their faces despite that exhausting marathon with its little murder mystery during the race. And as Jane sank down on the kitchen stool, with her fingers gently brushing over the picture, her determination began to evaporate again, just like some of the water in her coffee mug. Maura's face in that hospital bed had been void of happiness, and instead, it had been filled with worry and discomfort. And then there was the fact that, according to her doctor, Maura had been semi-consciously uttering the phrase 'Jane, don't do it' again and again. Her first thoughts after having been brought back to life weren't ones of happiness or relief. No. Instead, they were ones of fear and regret over the pain inflicted by the person she trusted most.

Fighting back the tears at the haunting memory of her decision in that basement, Jane buried her head in the crook of her arm, yearning for at least a few minutes of carefree oblivion before she would have to face Maura at the hospital. But unfortunately, after all the stresses and strains of the past week, her body chose this moment of all moments to finally pull the emergency brakes and to send her into an almost comatose sleep the very same second she closed her eyes.

And thus, about two hours later, she is still slouching on the kitchen stool when her mother barges into her apartment after having knocked repeatedly without getting any response.

"Jane?"

After a few moments, Angela's eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, and she spots her daughter sprawled out over the kitchen counter.

"Jane!"

And finally, her mother's harsh voice rips Jane from her dreamless sleep. Startled, she jolts up, knocks over her half-full coffee mug, drops the picture frame to the floor.

"Geez, Ma! What the hell?!" Gasping in surprise, she reaches for some paper towels and clumsily sponges up the cold coffee spilled all over the counter.

"What are you doing here?" Shaking her head in disapproval, Angela marches over to the windows and pulls open the curtains.

"As far as I know, I live here…," Jane grunts, irritated by her mother's bustling around in her apartment at this ungodly hour.

"Why weren't you at the hospital? I just gave Maura a ride home because I couldn't reach you…"

"Crap!" Checking her watch and cursing under her breath, Jane crumples up the paper towels and angrily tosses them into the trash bin. When she turns back around, she almost bumps into the Rizzoli matriarch.

"Ohh!" Angela's hand flies to her mouth as she sees the colorful bruise on Jane's face in broad daylight. "You said it was just a black eye! Let me take a look…"

"Don't you dare touch it!" The younger Rizzoli woman instantly shrinks back and picks up the picture frame from the floor — and flinches as she cuts her finger on its broken glass. "Damn it…" With a sad sigh, she places the picture on the counter and trudges to the sink to wash the blood off her finger.

Worriedly, Angela peeks at the picture, then at Jane. And even though she doesn't know the exact reason for her daughter's unusually strong display of her not-so-unusual morning grumpiness, she instantly realizes the obvious connection to the woman whom she just gave a ride to her Beacon Hill home. After another worried glance at Jane, she rummages through the contents of a wooden cupboard until the finds another frame. Careful not to cut her own fingers, she removes the broken glass from the old frame and pulls out the photo.

When Jane returns from the sink and tiredly plops down on her kitchen stool, Angela can't hold it back any longer. "Okay, what's going on between you two?"

"It's complicated…," Jane sighs, emptily staring at the photo in her mother's hands.

"That's what she said, too…" Hoping in vain for a more detailed answer from her daughter, Angela unwraps the new picture frame. "But what is so complicated? Maura almost died, and she needs you right now. There's nothing complicated about that…"

Hesitantly, Jane bites her lip. "And what if I'm the one who almost killed her?"

"What do you mean?" Angela frowns in confusion. "She said that sick professor from your case had done this to her…"

"Nope… it was me." Searching for comfort in her mother's face, Jane finally looks up. "I did this to her."

The Rizzoli matriarch pauses her work on the picture frame. "But… why? And… and how?"

"Told you it was complicated…"

"Okay, will one of you fill me in, please?!" Angela's face fills with concern. Patience doesn't run strong in the Rizzoli women. "First, Maura is crying her eyes out in the hospital, and now you're telling me you almost killed her — what in the world is going on?!"

Jane swallows hard at the tidbit of information revealed en passant. "She was crying?"

"Yes, very much…," Angela nods and nervously fidgets with the picture frame at the thought of Maura crying in her arms the night before. "I thought it was just from the stress and from almost having died… But… I think she was really hoping you'd come…"

The subtle hint doesn't go unnoticed, but instead of giving in to her mother's attempts to get her to talk, Jane freezes on her seat, desperately trying to ignore the mental image of Maura lying alone in her bed and crying herself to sleep.

"Listen, I don't understand what's going on or what you mean when you say you did this to her," Angela finally tries again. "But let's assume for a second that it's true and that you made a mistake… Then why are you sitting here? Shouldn't you go over there and apologize?"

Teary-eyed, Jane faces her mother. "How do you apologize for almost killing your best friend?"

The elder Rizzoli woman shrugs. "I guess you start by saying sorry…"

When her daughter still hesitates, Angela places the new picture frame with its enclosed photo in front of her. "Whatever you think is broken — if you really want to, you can fix it."

Jane stares at the photo of Maura and herself in the shiny new frame.

"Besides, if you two are fighting, it means I'll have to move out of Maura's guest house and move in here with you." Angela cheerfully nudges her daughter.

Teasingly, Jane raises an eyebrow. "Now, _that_ is an argument."

Seizing her chance, Angela pulls Jane into one of her awkwardly tight Rizzoli embraces. "Just go over there. It will be fine…"

"What if it won't?" Jane murmurs into her mother's shoulder, trying in vain to squirm free.

"Then you can still come back here and be miserable." Finally, Angela lets go. "And if you want to talk… you know… I'll be at the Café…"

The younger Rizzoli woman musters a tired smile. "Thanks…"

Satisfied, Angela places a goodbye kiss on her daughter's head. "Gotta go… Love you, baby."

"Love you, too, Ma."

For a few more moments after her mother's leaving, Jane remains seated in her kitchen, contemplatively staring at the picture in her hand. When Jo Friday appears at her feet, she takes a deep breath and finally gets up. "Wanna go for a walk?"

…

…

Three hours later, Jane is still roaming the streets of Boston, absentmindedly walking past the brownstones of the Back Bay, with Jo Friday on her leash bouncing around her feet. Ignoring the curious glances of other walkers at her battered face and dark-circled eyes, she turns into yet another street that doesn't lead to where she originally intended to go… Trying to come up with the right words to say… Wondering whether things between Maura and her could ever be the same… Hoping for a spontaneous idea for how to fix the broken frame of their lives…

But when inspiration doesn't strike and she is about to turn into a street she has already passed three times before, there is sudden resistance at the other end of the leash. And as she turns around, she finds Jo Friday crouched next to a bench and sending her a defiant glare from her puppy dog eyes. Apparently, the Yorkshire terrier has had enough walking for the day. Or for the whole week. Indecisively, Jane pauses, tempted to accept Jo Friday's implicit invitation to sit on that bench, but then she shakes her head, resolutely picks up her sulkily growling dog, and marches on.

Towards Beacon Hill.

A brisk twelve-minute walk later, she arrives at Maura's house, still cradling Jo Friday in her arm and tightly clutching a small package from a candy store in her hand. And as her heart rate speeds up, she slows down her steps. Until she reaches the front door. Determined, she raises her other hand to knock — but then lets it sink down again. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, she looks around and wonders whether some curious neighbors might be watching from behind their curtains and whether they would soon see Maura's front door being slammed shut right into her bruised face.

Just a minute ago, her chosen strategy still seemed feasible. Remembering Maura's non-reciprocal reaction to her confession of love in that basement, Jane decided to simply suppress her own feelings and to do whatever would be necessary to earn Maura's forgiveness of her decision to push that button. Maybe they could somehow rebuild their friendship, or at least something close to what they used to have. It would definitely be better than nothing, and if it meant that she would have to bury her lingering romantic ambitions, then that would be okay. She would simply have to avoid everything that could potentially bring those unrequited feelings back to the front. Simple as that.

At least that was the plan. But as Jane now stands in front of Maura's door, she can't help but wonder what would be worse — not being let in at all or having to go inside and ignore all those familiar sights and sounds and smells that used to make her feel at home?

Unable to arrive at a definite answer, she takes a few steps back, rests her chin on her dog's furry head, and starts pacing up and down in front of Maura's house.

…

…

At the same time, the owner of the house is pacing up and down herself. Nervously glancing at Bass unenthusiastically nibbling at a large green leaf, Maura is walking back and forth in her hallway, repeatedly looking at the newly delivered phone in her hand and entering Jane's number — only to cancel the call again right away. She yearns to hear Jane's voice, even if it was only over a noisy telephone line, but she can't ignore the bitter fact that Jane didn't answer Angela's calls before, that she didn't come to pick her up from the hospital, that they haven't spoken once ever since she forced Jane to push that damn button. And even though the thought breaks her heart, Maura can't help but acknowledge the possibility that maybe she won't hear Jane's voice any time soon. And she can't even blame her. How could she expect Jane to simply forgive and forget about what she asked her to do? How could she even remotely assume that Jane would pretend everything was fine after having been forced to kill her best friend? And after having confessed her love only to be shot down with a slightly skewed truth?

Desperately clinging to the memories of their shared past and hoping that maybe they'd help them find their way into a shared future, Maura takes a deep breath and focuses on her plan. Just in case. Somehow, she would have to remind Jane of what they used to have, of all the things that made her feel safe and secure in her Beacon Hill home, of all the familiar sights and sounds and smells that would maybe convince Jane to give her another chance. Maybe they could—

Before she can finish her thought, a determined knock at her front door jolts her out of her worries.

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Maura pads to the door but then freezes as she spots a familiar Yorkshire terrier in an even more familiar arm through the glass window. Feeling her heart race fast enough to make every ECG monitor explode, she takes another deep breath and opens the door.

Sporting an alarmingly large bruise around her right eye, Jane greets her with a hint of a smile. "Hey…"

"Hey…," Maura barely manages to whisper in response.

And for a short eternity, they both remain frozen to their respective spots, both hesitating to speak first, both afraid to face the arguments that will inevitably have to be faced. But eventually, Jane averts her eyes and reveals the small package in her hand.

"Uh… I went to the store looking for a greeting card that says _'Sorry, I killed you,'_ but for some reason, they didn't have any…" Shyly, she hands Maura the package. "So, I guess, chocolate will have to do…"

"At least, dark chocolate significantly reduces the risk of cardiovascular disease…," Maura murmurs habitually as she thankfully accepts her gift, then takes a closer look at the package. "Isn't this your favorite?"

"Huh? No…," Jane stutters while trying to ignore her heart's somersaults at Maura's recuperated appearance. "I don't know… Is it?"

Nervously fidgeting with the doorknob, Maura looks at her visitor. "Well, I'd share it with you, but you'd have to come in…"

Before Jane can respond, Jo Friday barks at the blonde. "Looks like Jo Friday wants to do that," Jane comments on her dog's decision and silently reminds herself to reward her furry friend with a few extra treats for having barked at the right time — even though her squeezing of the terrier's leg might have helped trigger that reaction.

Once inside, awkward silence lingers in the air as they both make their way to the kitchen island, trying not to bump into each other, as if someone blindfolded them and shoved them into a labyrinth that they have never navigated before.

"So, how are you feeling?" Jane finally asks.

"Quite alright," Maura says, then remembers her strategy. Maybe a joke will help break the ice. "Though I've just had a terrible flu… I wonder where I picked that up…"

But it doesn't quite work. Although Jane does remember their shared sickness, the thought inevitably sends her mind back to their night on the couch when Maura fell asleep on her shoulder and when she spent the quiet of the night rejoicing in the warmth and nearness of the blonde. But she can't deal with that thought right now. Not if she wants to keep her distance in order to work on rebuilding the friendship they used to have. And thus, she lets down Jo Friday, takes off the dog's leash, and simply slides onto one of the stools next to the counter, quietly observing the terrier bouncing around in those familiar surroundings.

Insecurely, Maura reaches for a pot waiting on a warmer next to the stove. "Want some tea?"

Habitually, Jane almost bursts out that she'd much rather have a beer, but then her eyes fall on the tea pot, and she can't help but remember how she stood in this kitchen just a few days ago, how she touched this pot in an attempt to determine how long Maura had been gone, how she then joined Howell for a ride to that basement, and how it all ended with her pushing that button.

"Jane?" Maura tries to get her attention and expectantly holds out a tea cup.

"Huh?" The brunette looks up in confusion, then remembers the question. "No… thanks."

Awkwardness engulfs them again as Maura pours herself some tea and they both struggle for words. But then a loud thud coming from the hallway breaks the silence.

"Uh, that's Bass…," Maura explains. "He's been rather irritated ever since the CSRUs in here interrupted his day… I, uh, I'll have to check on him…" She quickly disappears around the corner.

Remaining behind by herself, Jane slouches her shoulders, wondering how long they would tiptoe around each other until the inevitable meltdown. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with… to just let Maura yell at her for her decision… to stop trying to fix something that is broken beyond repair.

But then Maura returns, and Jane notices the worried look filling the blonde's face. "Everything alright on the tortoise front?"

"Tor—," Maura stops herself, realizing that there is no need for a correction this time. Another broken ritual… "Yes… he's eating again." Desperately searching for a way to bridge the seemingly growing gap between them, Maura tries to get a better look at the bruise covering Jane's eye. "What happened to your face?"

Jane shrugs. "It was in somebody's way…"

At the implication between the lines, Maura swallows hard. "Howell?"

Rubbing the scars on her hands, the detective nods. "He's dead, by the way…"

"Good…"

But now, it is Jane who fights a lump in her throat. Maura has never rejoiced at the death of anyone before, and the realization that the events of the last week have stolen that sweet innocence from her inevitably breaks Jane's heart. Clenching her fist, she nervously shifts on her seat and peeks at the blonde, who is rummaging through the contents of one of the drawers until she finds her desired item and almost casually emerges from behind the counter.

Holding a tube of anti-bruise ointment in her hand, Maura expectantly steps to Jane's side. "Let me see…"

"Uh, no!" Jane instinctively shrinks back. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt." Or, at least, it doesn't hurt as much as the thought of Maura's warm hands touching her skin and thereby breaking her heart all over again.

Confused, Maura withdraws and puts the tube back on the counter. "Sorry, I just thought… I could—"

"Can we just get it over with?!" It comes out much harsher than Jane intended.

And it pushes Maura further away. "What…?"

"Just lay it on me and stop being so damn polite! It only makes it worse."

"I… I don't understand…"

"You can yell if you want… or… or punch me or whatever…," Jane points at the bruised half of her face. "This side of my face is pretty popular right now, so just help yourself and—"

"Why would I yell at you and hit you?" Maura is completely lost at the notion.

"Because I killed you!" Jane finally lets it all out. "Because I pushed that damn button and you were pretty much dead because of me! You should at least be a little mad about it!"

And as she attempts to make sense of the brunette's outburst, things suddenly appear very different to Maura. "Is that… is that why you weren't at the hospital?"

"Yeah, first I killed you, and then I didn't even have the guts to face you!" Jane completely gives in to her guilt. "I'm an asshole, alright?! So, just let it all out! I deserve it!"

Trying to hold back her tears at the agony in Jane's face and voice, Maura steps back, overwhelmed by the situation and unsure of the proper protocol.

And the blonde's prolonged silence finally halts Jane's agitation. "I'm… sorry… I didn't mean to yell at you like that… It's just that… I can accept it if you don't want anything to do with me anymore… Just don't pretend everything was fine… It won't work…"

Finally, Maura regains her voice. "I thought you hated me…"

"What?" Jane frowns in confusion.

"I… I thought you hated me… For what I did to you… For forcing you to push that button…" Sensing that her knees are about to give in, Maura trudges to the couch and sinks down. "I'm… I never should have asked you to do that…"

Caught completely off-guard, Jane doesn't move for almost too many seconds but then follows the blonde to the couch and hesitantly sits down next to her, still keeping her distance, unsure of how this will pan out. "I don't hate you, Maura…"

"I couldn't blame you if you did…"

And as Jane notices Maura's fragile frame, her own sorrows are temporarily pushed aside by her instinctive desire to soothe her friend, to bring back a smile to Maura's face, to regain the comfort of their familiarity. "Come on, I didn't hate you when you started sneaking all that kale and quinoa stuff into my diet… or when you wouldn't let me have coffee… I mean, _those_ are really despicable things to do… But nothing could ever make me hate you… You should know better than that."

"I guess I could say the same about you," Maura sighs and insecurely looks at the brunette. "Why would you think I was mad at you?"

"Well…," Jane shrugs, suddenly questioning her own interpretation. "Your doctor said when you woke up you were kinda agitated and kept saying 'Don't do it, Jane.' Maybe, subconsciously, you _are_ mad at me…"

Maura squints as if trying to remember. "No, I was worried… I… I don't remember much, but I had some sort of nightmare, and I was afraid you'd try to… to…" The thought stifles her voice.

"Try to do what?"

"Try to kill yourself…" Maura swallows hard, her eyes filling with sadness. "In that basement, you implied that you wanted to die, too, and I guess, this thought somehow stuck with me… I was afraid you'd hurt yourself… I thought you would… you would try to kill yourself… And I couldn't let you do that…"

Jane pauses for a moment, remembers how she almost turned Maura's fear into reality when she was dangling over the edge of South Station's bus terminal building. And she can't help but admit this truth to the only person who has ever truly seen her darker side. "I've thought about it… At least for a moment… Yesterday, when—"

"What? Even after you knew I was alive?" Maura isn't quite sure whether she should be worried or shocked.

"Well… I thought I had fucked it all up…," Jane adds quietly. "And I was kinda hanging at the edge of a building, and I thought… I could just let go and… well, I wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore…"

Maura shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you'd give up just like that."

"Hey, I didn't give up! But I don't exactly have much reason to hang on…"

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, look at me!" Gradually, Jane's suppressed emotions find their way back. "I'm 39, I live in a crappy apartment, and people keep leaving me — what reason do I have to hang on?"

"I can think of at least six reasons off the top of my head," Maura insists resolutely. "You have Angela, Frankie, Tommy, TJ, Sergeant Korsak… and you'll always have me."

"Yeah, right," Jane huffs. "Except that you'd rather want to die than stay with me…"

"That's not fair, Jane," Maura objects helplessly. "I never _wanted_ to die. But I didn't really have a choice. I couldn't let all those people in Fenway Park die. And neither could you."

"Well, you're the one who says we always have a choice," Jane points out stubbornly as the memory of Maura turning her down suddenly reminds her to keep her distance. "And you made it pretty clear that you won't choose me."

"I did not—"

"I'm sorry, this was a bad idea…" Without giving Maura a chance to hold her back, Jane gets up and heads for the kitchen island. "I thought I could do this and just let you be mad at me and… I don't know what I was thinking…"

Feeling all that progress slip away again, Maura jumps up from the couch and rushes after the brunette. "Jane, wait!"

"No, I should listen to my own advice and stop pretending everything was fine," Jane declares without looking at the blonde. "It won't work…" She grabs Jo Friday's leash from the counter, then looks for her dog until she finds her hiding behind the couch. "Come here, Jo Friday!"

Hesitantly, the Yorkshire terrier gets up. Following orders isn't exactly her thing.

Unless they come from Maura. "You sit, Jo Friday!" Whimpering at the blonde's stern voice, the dog sits down again.

Puzzled by her puppy's betrayal, Jane pauses but then marches towards Jo Friday to pick her up.

Thinking ahead, Maura spots some of the dog's toys still lying on the desk behind the couch, a reminder of the many nights Jane had stayed over with her furry friend. She picks a small ball and throws it into the opposite corner of the room. "Fetch, Jo Friday!"

And again, the Yorkshire terrier obeys and bounces through the room, chasing after her toy and leaving a perplexed Jane behind.

"You think that's funny, Maura?!"

"Do I think it's funny that you're about to run away again, even after everything we've been through? No, I do not." Determined, she steps closer, takes the dog's leash from Jane's hand, and puts it back on the counter. "I'm not going to let that happen again."

Pointedly, Jane reaches for the leash. "What, you want to lock me in your house?"

"If I have to…" Maura places her hand on Jane's, pinning the other woman's fingers down and leaving no doubt about her seriousness.

"Why can't you just let me go?" The touch of their hands weakens Jane's resistance. This is exactly what she wanted to avoid. "You said you don't love me. Why do you have to make it harder for me?"

"I never said that." Feeling the soreness of Jane's knuckles under her fingertips, Maura strokes over the bruised skin, as if it could wipe away the memory of Jane hurting her hand when punching the cold walls in that basement.

"Yeah, you did," Jane objects and removes her hand, instantly regretting the loss of Maura's soothing touch. "You just wrapped it in some superficially nice words because you can't be anything but nice and polite. But still… You said you only loved me as a friend… And I tried, but I guess, that's just not enough for me." Exhausted, she trudges towards her dog.

But Maura has no intention to give up. She walks back to the couch and invitingly pats the cushions. "Over here, Jo Friday!"

"Stop it, Maura!" Annoyed, Jane follows her dog to the couch.

"I will. As soon as you stop running away and sit down…"

"I'm not a dog that you can just boss around…"

"Please, Jane." Maura reaches for the brunette's hands but then decides against it as Jane instantly pulls away again. She can't force it. She wants Jane to want it.

But after another mandatory moment of pouting and refusing, Jane finally sinks down on the couch.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Maura sits with her, searching for words to finally make right what has been wrong for too long. "I did say I loved you like a friend," she admits quietly. "But I did not employ the word 'only'."

"Huh?" Jane clearly isn't in the mood for word games.

"Well, you said you would push that button if I told you I didn't love you," Maura explains. "But I can't lie, so… I had to improvise…" She waits for Jane to figure it out herself, but apparently, the stress of the last days has impaired the detective's keen mind. "Just because I love you like a friend doesn't mean I can't also love you on a different level…"

And finally, it dawns on Jane. "You tricked me…"

"I did not."

"Yeah, you did…"

"No, I simply chose to exclude certain information, and then you jumped to conclusions…" Teasingly, Maura smirks at Jane. "Like you always do…"

Forcing her tired mind to process those new revelations, Jane leans back into the cushions. And suddenly, they feel familiar again. And comfortable. So damn comfortable.

Hopefully, Maura reaches for the brunette's hand. And this time, she doesn't pull away. "Do you want to ask me again?"

Resisting the urge to just fall asleep in those wonderfully soft cushions, Jane locks eyes with the blonde, loses herself in the warmth and affection that finally grace Maura's face again. "Well, do you… do you love me?"

Trying to hide an amused smile, Maura tilts her head. This is going to be fun. "Well, yes, but we've already established that."

"No, no…," Jane realizes her mistake. "I mean, do you love me — but not as a friend?"

"But I _do _love you as a friend…," Maura points out patiently while secretly noting that a tired and confused Detective Jane Rizzoli was probably one of the cutest things she has ever seen. And after she almost died, no one can blame her for making the most of this moment.

Well, no one except for the victim of her little game… "You do realize I haven't slept in like I-don't-know-how-many days…?" Jane whines impatiently. "Can't you just tell me?"

"How about I show you…?"

Tentatively, Maura leans forward, waits for any sign of protest or resistance. But there is none. And so she closes the distance until her lips find Jane's.

And for a moment, Maura feels nothing at all. Not even the racing beat of her own heart. As if time suddenly stands still. And she wonders whether it might be nothing but a dream after all… a figment of her imagination… a final sentimental gasp of her dying brain…

But then Jane's lips respond to the fleeting contact… Cautious at first, but soon sending everything spinning out of control… And with every new sensation registering in her mind, Maura knows that she is still very much alive… even more so than ever before.

And she enjoys that certainty… enjoys the warmth of Jane's lips on her own… the faint taste of coffee tickling the tip of her tongue… the gentle touch of Jane's hands on her hips… pulling her closer… keeping her safe…

Until they both need to catch their breath…

Silently cursing at the human body's inconvenient need for frequent oxygen, Maura pulls back and smiles at the brunette. "Does that answer your question?"

"I'm… not sure…," Jane admits with a smirk. "Maybe you should elaborate on that… just a bit…"

Never one to shy away from an appropriately detailed discussion, Maura nods and leans in for another kiss. And under the watchful eyes of Jo Friday, their lips once again begin to explore the new territory… More assertive now… More passionate… And they are both yearning for the nearness of each other… With their hands floating over the fabric of their clothes… Until their fingers meet and entwine… in perfect unity…

But then Jane accidentally brushes over the bandages on Maura's wrists and brings back all the memories that were temporarily vanquished by the sweetness of their kiss…

"Wait… I can't…," Jane gasps and withdraws from their embrace.

"What? What's wrong?" Maura follows the brunette's eyes down to their hands.

"This!" Jane points at Maura's bandaged skin. "This is wrong. No matter what we do, I'll always be the one who put you in danger… who did this to you… How could you ever trust me again?"

Agitated, Jane tries to get up, but Maura is faster this time and pushes her back into the cushions, then slides over and straddles the brunette. "I trust you because you respect me." She takes Jane's hands into her own and forces her to look at her, trying not to break under the weight of the sadness in the detective's dark eyes. "You did what I asked you to do, regardless of how difficult and tormenting it must have been. You did _not_ put your own needs before mine, and you did _not_ decide it over my head." Insistently, Maura squeezes Jane's hands. "You respected my decision, and I know you will _always_ respect my decisions. And that's why I know I can trust you."

"But you've only been in danger because of me," Jane objects weakly. "Howell wanted to hurt you in order to hurt me… And that risk will never go away… You'd really be better off without me…"

"I know the risk," Maura admits quietly. "But I also know the reward… And I… I really like that reward, Jane… So, if you want to run away again, you need a better reason this time…"

Trying to drown all those doubts in her mind, Jane keeps her eyes on their hands, wishfully playing with Maura's fingers. "I don't wanna run away again…"

"Then stay…"

And after another moment of hesitation, Jane simply nods. "Okay…"

"Okay…?" The constant uncertainty makes Maura distrust her own ears.

But finally, Jane looks up and nods again. "Yeah…, okay."

And this time, it is Jane who leans forward and pulls Maura closer until their lips meet again. And as she gives in to the alluring promise of that kiss, Maura feels Jane relax between her legs, feels her flight instincts fade into oblivion. Anxious not to let that newly found safety slip away again, they both seek comfort in each other's arms, huddling together and making it impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

"I guess I'm beginning to understand why you always want to talk about everything," Jane murmurs into the blonde's shoulder.

A smile of relief filling her face, Maura chuckles and steals another kiss from Jane's lips before resting her head against the crook of Jane's neck, drinking in the scent of her hair and her skin, and wishing the moment would never end.

Resting her chin on Maura's head, Jane rejoices in the warmth of the woman in her arms and pulls her closer, careful not to hurt the cracked ribs in the blonde's chest.

But after a few moments, Maura's body begins to tremble, and Jane worriedly loosens her embrace. "Are you crying?"

"No… well, yes…," Maura murmurs without looking up. "Emotional tears… They help remove various toxic substances from the body… including adrenocorticotropic hormone, which is a major indicator of stress. Research suggests that the simple act of crying may be a healthy response of the human body to prevent diseases that are aggravated by stress."

"Uh, the short version…?" A little overwhelmed by the spontaneous lecture, Jane playfully tickles Maura's cheek, trying to get her attention.

Sleepily, the blonde looks up and sighs. "It's been a _really _long week…"

"Yeah…, tell me about it," Jane agrees and caringly studies Maura's tired features. "Do you wanna get some rest? Take a nap or something?"

Maura nods. "What about you?"

"I've heard only good things about sleeping…" Jane begins to arrange the cushions on the couch. "I guess I could try it myself…"

"Wait…," Maura hesitantly points at the brunette's bruised eye. "Can I put something on that… please?"

"Do you have to?"

From the corner of her eye, Maura notices the still unopened package on her kitchen counter. "I'll bring you some chocolate…"

The thought instantly lights up Jane's face. "Now, we're talking…"

Smiling at her victory, Maura gets up to gather the anti-bruise ointment and to unwrap the box of chocolates waiting on the counter.

Meanwhile, Jane lifts Jo Friday off the couch. "Go find yourself another place to sleep… That's what you get for not listening to me…"

Moments later, Maura sits down again and hands Jane the chocolate, then squeezes some ointment from the tube onto her fingertips. "Just lean back and sit still…"

Unfortunately, that is easier said than done. As soon as her fingers touch Jane's eye, the brunette jolts up. "Ow! Geez, Maura!"

"What? You said it didn't hurt…"

"Yes, as long as nobody touches it!"

"But I have to touch it," Maura declares and hopes for another successful implementation of her previous strategy. "Just distract yourself with some chocolate…"

Distrustfully keeping her eyes on the blonde's hands, Jane leans back and Maura tries anew. But before her fingers are even remotely close to Jane's skin, the brunette already shrinks back. "Ow!"

Annoyed, Maura rolls her eyes. "I haven't even touched it this time!"

"I know… It was a precautionary _'ow,'_" Jane grins, but when she receives nothing but another impatient glare from Maura, she snatches a piece of chocolate and sinks back into the cushions. "Fine… do what you have to do…"

Ignoring the brunette's playful pout, Maura carefully applies the ointment, forced to pause repeatedly every time Jane flinches and reaches for another piece of chocolate.

When she's finally done, she puts the ointment away and closely examines Jane's face. "Did you get your head checked for a concussion?"

Jane grimaces at that all too familiar tone. "If I say no, will you force me to go to the hospital right now?"

"I'm just worried… You don't really take good care of yourself…" At the sight of the quickly diminishing number of chocolates, Maura takes the box from Jane's hand and puts it on the table.

The resulting protest from the brunette is inevitable. "Taking away my chocolate certainly won't contribute to my well-being…"

"Technically, it's _my_ chocolate," Maura points out and reclaims her position on Jane's lap.

"Details…," Jane whispers teasingly.

Her fingers gently stroking Jane's cheeks, Maura's voice gets more serious. "I'm glad you're here…"

The brunette smiles as she finally lets all those familiar sights and sounds and smells of Maura's house welcome her back home. "Me too…"

"Took you long enough…" Without waiting for a response, Maura boldly leans in for another kiss, gaining more confidence with every new taste of Jane's chocolaty lips.

Completely surrendering to the blonde's caress, Jane blindly reaches for the blanket, then lies down on her back, pulling Maura with her, until they're both buried in the couch's cushions. After a brief struggle with the slightly self-willed blanket — and ignoring the blonde's giggling at her attempts —, Jane finally manages to cover them both with the woolen fabric and lets out an exhausted sigh. "Are you comfortable?"

"Hmm…," Maura hums contently, snuggles up to the brunette's chest, and slides her right hand into Jane's left. "You?"

"Perfect…," Jane confirms, even though it isn't exactly true. The couch doesn't leave her much room to move, she can already feel parts of her body going numb under Maura's weight, and above all, that enticing box of chocolates is now way out of reach. But in the end, none of this matters. Because the fact that Maura is still alive and well and about to fall asleep in her arms is everything she truly needs. That and maybe a few moments of peace for herself… Just a few minutes… That can't be too much to ask after such a long week…

But before Jane gets a chance to ponder the thought further, her eyes already flutter shut and her mind drifts off into the dreamland of a deep and worry-free sleep.

…

…


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N:**__ Can someone wake me and tell me that this season 4 finale mess didn't happen? I gave JTam the benefit of the doubt until the bitter end, but how can she… how can any writer… I mean… really? Jane basically called Maura a slut and was more worried about her sexist little brother's heart than about her best friend who's always there for her… REALLY, JANE?!  
__So, I was going to post another super-long chapter but had to, uh, recollect myself after this crapfest of an episode. I was ready to raise Howell from the dead and let him kill Jane and Maura. That's basically what Tamaro did. Killed those characters in cold blood.  
__Well, anyway. Didn't want to let you wait for too long though, therefore I split it up and here's already the 1st half. And the 2nd half won't take as long… Already working on it.  
__And sorry for the little rant… *still shaking my head*_

* * *

___…_

**Chapter 17**

_**April 7, 2014 (continued)**_

The late afternoon sun is already beginning to set when Angela mingles with steady streams of commuters pouring in and out of MBTA buses and the trains of the "T" on their way home. With her bag slung over her shoulder and carrying a Tupperware bowl filled with warm pasta she has just finished preparing after her shift at BPD's Division One Café, she absentmindedly swims along with the crowds and slowly but steadily makes her way to her Beacon Hill guest house next to Maura's home. And involuntarily, the thought of the woman who's almost like her second daughter brings a frown to her face as she inevitably wonders what the exact cause of that rift between her and Jane might be. Though she's seen them fight before, it has never been as bad — with both of them apart, eyes all cried out, faces pale and forlorn. And as Angela crosses the cobblestone street around the corner of her home, she secretly prays that things have fallen back into place.

Moments later, she cautiously opens the backdoor to Maura's house and peeks inside. "Maura…?"

Waiting in vain for an answer, she steps inside and looks around, increasingly worried why she hasn't heard from either Jane or Maura all day long. But when she spots Jo Friday sending her a vaguely interested glance from sleepy puppy dog eyes and then sees some strands of brunette and honey blonde hair and the shape of two bodies hidden underneath a blanket on the couch, a sigh of relief escapes her lips.

As quietly as possible, Angela tiptoes to the couch and curiously peeps over its back — and she can't help but smile at the sight of the two women sound asleep between the cushions… Entangled beneath the fabric of the blanket… With Jane's right arm holding Maura close on top of her and her lean fingers of her left hand locked with those of Maura's right… Like a pair of dancers swaying to the silent rhythm of their dreams…

For lack of a real camera, Angela takes a mental picture, then scurries to the kitchen island, puts down the Tupperware bowl and reaches for the pencil and notepad lying next to the sink. Tapping the pencil against her chin, she stares into the distance for a while before beginning to scribble down a message to accompany the Rizzoli-style pasta in the bowl.

Once she is done, she tiptoes back to the couch, catches one last joyful glimpse of its two snoozing occupants, and finally sneaks out of the house.

…

…

A little while later, when a dimly flickering lamp in her kitchen is barely keeping the dusk at bay, Maura's senses finally awaken and lead her still drowsy mind's attention back to the warmth embracing her whole body. A warmth that feels familiar and oddly new at the same time… With a smile playing around the corner of her mouth, she gently squeezes the hand enclosing her own and carefully tries to stretch under the blanket — until she feels a little extra weight on her back.

Confused, she frees her hand and taps the woman still sleeping underneath her weight. "Jane? Jane, are you awake?"

"Nooo…" The subtle annoyance in the murmured response leaves no doubt that the disturbance isn't exactly welcome.

But Maura chooses to ignore it and taps the other woman's arm again. "Is that your dog on my back?"

Finally, Jane opens her eyes and dozily looks up — only to find Jo Friday sprawled out on Maura's back and intently watching her. "Yup… She's staring at me… I think she's jealous because you took her place."

Giving up her attempts to stretch, Maura relaxes back into Jane's embrace. "Well, as long as she's sitting on my back, I can't get up and will have to stay in her place…"

Sending Jo Friday an equally threatening stare, Jane whispers to her dog. "Don't you dare move, Jo Friday!"

Maura chuckles in amusement. "But as long as I can't get up, you won't be able to reach that chocolate on the table…"

The argument clearly has some merit. And it results in a change of mind. "Off, Jo Friday!"

Not surprisingly, the Yorkshire terrier doesn't move.

Until Maura orders the same. "Get off, Jo Friday!"

With a quiet growl of disapproval, the little puppy obediently hops off the couch and finally allows Maura to sit up and stretch her bones, suppressing a moan at a dull pain in her fractured ribs.

"You okay?" Jane jolts up in worry and begins to gently rub Maura's back until she feels the blonde relax. "Since when does my dog listen to you?!"

"Well, I had a little talk with her the other day…"

"I see…" Yearning for the other woman's nearness, Jane rests her chin on Maura's shoulder. "Well, you can be quite convincing sometimes…"

"I know," Maura agrees with a smirk but then pauses pensively. "Though I always thought you'd kiss me first…"

"Uh, technically, I did," Jane points out.

"No, you didn't."

"Sure did."

"I think I would remember that," Maura insists.

"Nah, you were too busy playing dead." Instinctively, Jane puts her arm around Maura's waist at the memory. "So, I had to do the whole CPR and mouth-to-mouth thing…"

"Oh…," Maura tilts her head in surprise. "Then you're the one who fractured my ribs?"

"Sorry…," Jane grimaces and hugs her a little tighter, enjoying the moment until another thought seems to cross the blonde's mind. "What?"

"I'm just…," Maura squints in confusion. "How exactly did I end up in the hospital? No one ever really told me…"

"Well, I accidentally had your phone in my pocket when I went with Howell to—"

"What do you mean, you _went with him_? He didn't sedate you?"

"Not at first, no…"

"But why did you go with him then? You could have arrested him or—"

"No, I couldn't. Because he had you. And he said you'd die if I didn't come with him."

At the subtle implications, Maura's heart skips a beat or two, though she can't tell whether it is out of admiration or concern. "So, you went with him? Just like that?"

"Yeah, of course," Jane confirms and reaches for Maura's hand. "You think I'd let you die? Just like that?"

"Well, no, but—"

"No _but_." Forestalling any further objections, Jane places a soft kiss on Maura's lips. It has been too many hours since their last one after all. But when the delighted sparkle in the blonde's eyes threatens to lead her thoughts into a completely different direction, Jane shyly clears her throat. "So, anyway… I had your phone with me and managed to call Korsak, but then your stupid crappy sucky phone died again, so Korsak couldn't do anything all day. But right before I found you, it came back on for a couple of seconds. Korsak traced it and figured out the address of the house, then called for backup and an ambulance. And they arrived a few of minutes after I… uh… you know…"

"So, wait," Maura tries to keep track of all the pieces of the puzzle in her head. "First, you voluntarily went with Howell because he threatened to kill me, and then you did CPR until the ambulance arrived?"

"Yeah, basically…"

"Then why in the world do you blame yourself for killing me?" Maura insistently looks at the brunette. "You _saved_ me, Jane."

"Well, after I put you in danger to begin with," Jane objects insecurely. "And after I pushed that button, so—"

"Howell was the one who put me in danger and who forced you to push that button." Yearning to free Jane from that burdening guilt, Maura takes both of her scared hands into her own. "But _you_ are the only reason why I'm still alive, Jane."

"Uh, but—"

"No _but_." And this time, it is Maura who won't tolerate any objections. Still keeping her fingers locked with Jane's, she leans in for another kiss, lets the brunette feel the sweet taste of forgiveness, and wipes away a tiny bit of that heavy guilt with every light touch of her tongue on Jane's lips.

And little by little, it rekindles Jane's spirit and brings a teasing smile to her face. "So, since you've just admitted that my kissing saved your life, does that mean it counts and I kissed you first?"

"No, because I still don't remember it," Maura denies but then suggestively wiggles her eyebrows. "But, you know… you could try and help me remember…"

And Jane doesn't need a second invitation to refresh Maura's memory. Pulling the blonde into her arms again, she reclaims that now familiar territory of Maura's lips and brings her back to life all over again… Affectionately… Passionately… Leaving no doubt that she will not let Maura slip away again…

That is… until an unexpected growl coming from Jane's stomach interrupts their moment and makes them both look down at her belly in surprise.

Suppressing a chuckle, Maura playfully nudges the brunette's abdomen. "When was the last time you've had a proper meal?"

"Uh, what day is it?"

"How about I'm going to make us something to eat and—"

"No, I'm not _that_ hungry," Jane quickly protests and pulls the blonde closer again. "At least not for food…"

For a moment, Maura gives in to another caressing visit of Jane's lips on her own, but when the brunette's stomach reminds them of its needs with another growl, Maura withdraws for good. "Okay, that's it! Time for food before I'll get sucked into your stomach."

Unable to prevent Maura's escape to the kitchen counter, Jane grumpily stares at her belly. "Well, _thank you_!"

"Oh!" The blonde sighs in surprise in the kitchen. "Looks like your mother brought us some food while… we were… asleep…" Her voice slows down as she is reading the note sitting on the Tupperware bowl.

"What did she bring us?" Jane heaves herself up and trudges to the kitchen counter, raising her eyebrow in concern when she notices Maura speechlessly staring at a piece of paper in her hand. "What's going on?"

"Promise not to freak out?"

"Just show me!"

After another moment of hesitation, Maura grimaces and wordlessly hands her the note.

And as her eyes scan the message her mother left them with the pasta, Jane's face displays an odd symphony of every possible emotion from thankfulness to confusion to irritation and utter disbelief. When she is done reading, her lower jaw has pretty much dropped to the floor. Shaking her head, she stares at the note in her hand.

_Hey girls! I thought you'd like to enjoy some real food after all the stress with your case… It's one of Nana's pasta variants that you loved so much as a child, Jane… You probably want to introduce Maura to some of our family traditions anyway, right? Oh, and Maura, you can add some extra spice if it's too insipid for your taste. I won't tell Nana.  
Anyway, I'm glad you two made up. I was wondering when you'd figure it out…  
__And don't worry about giving me some grandchildren… There are various options to do this. You remember Carla Talucci's cousin, Jane? You know, the one whose husband had a little difficulty getting it on…? She got her kids thanks to artificial insemination, and she can probably give you some tips… Ask her.  
__Or, you know what? I'm gonna give her a call right now. Just in case…  
__Love you two!  
__Angela_

"Oh God… I knew this day would come…" Jane leans against the counter and buries her head in her arms. "I'm gonna kill my mother, and then I'm gonna have to arrest myself."

"Not if I help you get rid of her body…," Maura suggests and mischievously winks at the brunette before putting the Tupperware bowl into the microwave.

"Doctor Isles, I believe your mobster roots are showing!"

With a conspiratorial smile on her lips, the blonde steps closer and puts her arms around Jane's waist. "Is that good or bad?"

"We'll see…" Thankful for the moral support, despite its legal dubiousness, Jane rests her forehead against Maura's and relaxes in her arms. "But seriously, you're not, uh… we're not… I mean… This isn't gonna turn into some sort of… you know… domestic thing?"

"Why would it?" Maura is quite familiar with the detective's concern. "You like your job, and I like my job. Just because we also happen to like each other doesn't mean we have to change anything."

"Good." Jane's sigh of relief is followed by another long kiss.

"Although we might have to come up with some workplace rules…," Maura whispers when they both need to catch their breath. Just as she is about to lean in again, the microwave's timer beeps and she pulls away without warning. "Alright, dinner's ready."

"Well, apparently, we'll only need a microwave timer instead of _workplace rules_…," Jane grumbles in disapproval of the sudden loss of contact.

But before she gets a chance to complain any further, Jo Friday emerges from behind the counter and expectantly stares at Jane, making it clear that _everybody_ in the house should be properly fed.

Grinning at her puppy, Jane gets out a bag of dog food from the closet under the sink, pours some of it into a bowl Maura specifically bought for her frequent four-legged guest, and places the bowl in front of the dog. "You're still not forgiven, you little traitor!" But when Jo Friday hesitates to taste her treats, as if her ability to enjoy her food depended on Jane's forgiveness, the brunette sighs and ruffles the terrier's fur. "Okay, fine… Apology accepted. But only because you're cute."

And instantly, Jo Friday focuses her attention solely on her treats.

Shaking her head in amusement, Jane follows Maura to the dining table and plops down onto a chair next to the blonde, eager to attack the hot bowl of food with her fork. And as the first sensations of that delicious pasta tickle her long-neglected taste buds, she inevitably has to admit that her previous decision might have been a bit premature… "Hmm, maybe I'll let my mother live a little longer… She does know how to cook…"

Truly relishing the Rizzoli-style pasta after two days of flavorless hospital food, Maura takes her time and watches with delight how Jane gulps down another forkful of pasta as soon as she realizes just how hungry she actually is.

"Seriously, if you want any of this, it's the wrong time to show restraint…," Jane mumbles with her mouth full. "I'm not gonna stop any time soon…"

Smiling at the sight, Maura secures herself another forkful of the hot food before her thoughts slowly drift off and she absentmindedly chews on her pasta.

When Jane notices the smile on the blonde's face fading away, she reaches for her left hand resting on the table. "What are you thinking about?"

And for a moment, Maura hesitates but then she inquisitively looks at the brunette. "Earlier, you said you were hanging at the edge of some building… Was that when Howell died?"

"Uh-huh…," Jane confirms and quickly shoves another load of pasta into her mouth, hoping to avoid this kind of conversation. In vain.

"How did it happen? Wasn't Sergeant Korsak or anybody else with you?"

Hesitantly poking her fork through the pasta in the bowl, Jane swallows her food, then sheepishly looks at the blonde. "I might have… put in a little effort to get a chance to talk to Howell alone…" Upon Maura raising her eyebrows in disapproval, she hastens to add an explanation. "Well, I had him where I wanted him, but we were sitting in a café at South Station, and then this waitress had the worst timing ever, and Howell ran away." Feeling Maura see right through her, Jane averts her eyes and focuses on the pasta instead, a hint of stubbornness seeping into her voice. "So, I chased him, and we ended up on the roof. Then he tried to climb down some scaffolding. And when I followed him, he slipped and fell… End of story."

But Maura knows there is more. "You sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?"

And Jane wonders whether she should. Howell certainly got what he deserved, but she hates the thought of Maura participating in his death, even if it was only in her mind. But she herself is a cop after all, and somewhere deep inside, she knows that even the slightest bending of the rules will tarnish that thin blue line. And she did bend those rules. After another moment of silence, Jane simply shrugs. "I didn't really make an effort to save him… I mean, I probably couldn't have saved him from falling anyway, but I didn't even try…"

"Well, I don't blame you," Maura admits quietly. "I would've done the same…"

"No! See, this is just not how it's supposed to be," Jane objects and regretfully searches for that sweet innocence in Maura's eyes. "You're supposed to be all nice and forgiving… and not… angry!"

"I'm not angry, Jane. But after what he forced you to do… I think everybody is better off with him gone…"

"Still…" Jane halfheartedly scoops up another forkful of pasta from the almost empty bowl. But when she feels Maura's fingers gently rub the scar on her hand and sees the warmth still emanating from those hazel eyes, her own anger about Howell's crimes slowly fades away and she gulps down the rest of the pasta. "Oh, and you prevented his last bomb from going off, by the way."

Maura furrows her brows in confusion. "You mean in Fenway?"

"No, no, another one." Jane quickly gets up and grabs that pencil and notepad from the kitchen counter. "That bastard created a little riddle that was supposed to help his stupid experiments go viral." She returns to her seat and scribbles down the clues she remembers. "He gave us six clues where to find that bomb. And in some sick way, it made total sense. It's where he gave his lectures, and I guess his ego simply couldn't deal with the idea of anybody else taking _his _stage after his resignation." She hands Maura the list.

The blonde studies the clues for a moment, then questioningly looks at Jane. "Sanders Theater?"

"Yup," Jane nods and points at the last clue. _And we shall be inspired by the greatness of Christopher Wren. _"I remembered you telling me something about some place in Oxford and this Christopher Wren guy… Right before we visited Howell last week."

"You remember that?"

"Sure… I remember everything you say," Jane confesses with a blush. "Well, except when you talk about healthy food… There's really no point in remembering any of that."

Her cheeks ambitiously trying to match the blush on Jane's face, Maura smiles at the brunette before focusing her attention back on the list.

"So, how about the other clues? Any ideas?"

"Well, the first one seems to refer to James Otis," Maura explains. "Supposedly, he coined the phrase _'Taxation without representation is tyranny,'_ and there's a statue of him on one side of the stage at Sanders Theater."

"And you know that because…?"

"Because I read an article about the building when you told me to meet you there."

"Of course, you did." Jane shakes her head in amusement.

Eager to solve the riddle, Maura re-reads the clue about a former Boston mayor with his own market. "And the second clue refers to another statue of—"

"Josiah Quincy!" Jane blurts out beaming with pride.

"Very good," Maura nods approvingly but then teasingly glances at the brunette. "With or without Google?"

And Jane's pride turns into a pout. "At least I know where to look it up…"

Chuckling at the detective's cuteness, Maura ponders the next clues. "The third one about _Victoria_ could mean the building's architecture — High Victorian Gothic… And this fourth one obviously refers to a popular glass-stained window in there. It's called _Athena Tying the Mourning Fillet_ by John LaFarge…"

"Obviously…," Jane comments dryly while marveling at the blonde's effortless explanations.

"Hmm, and that last one…," Maura pauses and frowns. _What follows after ABC is all Greek to me._

And Jane's face fills with just the tiniest hint of glee. "Oh my God, Doctor Maura Isles doesn't know the answer!"

"No, no, wait, just give me a second…"

"Nah, twenty bucks says you don't know it!"

But then the scales fall from Maura's eyes. "Oh, of course! ABC is followed by the letter D, which is called _Delta_ in Greek, and Sanders Theater was built on a field that used to be nicknamed _'the Delta!'_" She grins at Jane. "Alright, pay up, Detective!"

Disappointed, Jane grumbles and looks down at her BPD T-shirt and sweatpants. "I don't have any cash with me…"

Luckily, Maura isn't really interested in pecuniary payments. "I guess that means you'll have to find another way to pay me…"

"Hmm… How about this…" Jane takes the hint and leans over to capture Maura's lips in another passionate kiss… And she makes sure she pays off every single cent of those twenty dollars. Plus interest… Just in case… As their lips finally part, Jane smirks at the blonde. "And don't take this the wrong way, but I really hope some of your brain cells got fried in that basement." When Maura stares at her in confusion, Jane jokingly pecks her on the cheek. "That's the only chance for the rest of us to keep up with that brain of yours!"

Maura playfully slaps the brunette's arm away, grabs the empty pasta bowl and their forks, and escapes to the kitchen. "Want some wine…?"

"If it looks and tastes like beer, sure…" Suppressing a yawn, Jane trudges to the couch, plops down, and turns on the TV. The Red Sox game against the Rangers is about to begin.

Moments later, Maura arrives with two glasses and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon that doesn't look like beer at all. Ignoring the grouchy look from the brunette, she places the glasses and the wine on the table before snuggling up to Jane on the couch.

As if on cue, Jo Friday darts to the couch and hops onto the cushion on Jane's other side, leaving no doubt that she is determined to contest Maura's claim to Jane's attention. Fortunately, the brunette's mood matches her dog's intention, and she willingly ruffles the puppy's fur. But much to Jo Friday's indignation, Maura still remains Jane's priority, and she wraps her other arm around the blonde, letting her hand glide over the fabric of Maura's pullover, caressing her arms and her hands and her fingertips, but always making sure to avoid touching the bandages on her wrists.

And for a little while, they simply revel in the perfection of the moment… completely at ease…

But when the Red Sox pre-game coverage switches to an aerial view of Fenway Park, Jane pauses her caressing and a somber tone fills her voice. "They'll never know…"

Maura glances up. "What do you mean?"

"All those people who were in that ballpark… They'll never know that you were willing to die for them…"

"I don't care… They're save now and that's all that matters."

Pensively, Jane watches the scene on TV and pulls Maura closer. "Still… I think you should get a medal and some kick-ass award for that."

"Well, I got a kick-ass detective for that…," the blonde teasingly smiles at the brunette.

"I'm serious…"

"So am I."

When Jane still keeps her eyes on the screen, visibly distraught by those memories seeping back into her mind, Maura reaches for the box of chocolates on the table and playfully nudges Jane until she gives in and lets one of the dark cocoa-filled pieces disappear in her mouth. Satisfied, Maura pours herself some of that Cabernet. "You know how you always make fun of me when I tell you to have wine with chocolate instead of your beer?"

"Uh…yes?" Jane admits sheepishly, not quite sure where this is going.

With practiced eyes, Maura examines the wine in her glass, takes a large sip, and lets the ruby liquid linger in her mouth before swallowing it down. Lasciviously winking at Jane, she leans into her until their lips meet again, until their tongues find each other in a delightful first embrace, until the different tastes in their mouths merge in perfect harmony.

And finally, Jane understands the natural complementarity of chocolate and wine. "Okay…," she gasps as Maura catches her breath. "I see your point…"

Without further words, Jane snatches another piece of chocolate and Maura takes another sip of her wine before they both resume their tasteful exchange.

And this second round is followed by a third, and a fourth, and a fifth… until Maura's glass is empty and Jane's box of chocolates has lost a significant part of its contents.

Both of them almost blushing from embarrassment about their hunger for each other, they sink back into the cushions. And for a while, Maura simply lets the brunette play with her hands, enjoys the touch of their fingers, quivers with delight whenever Jane tickles the sensitive skin of her palms. But despite all those gentle sensations distracting her mind, she can't help but notice how Jane repeatedly avoids touching her bandages, how her fingers almost flinch back whenever they accidentally brush over the white fabric covering her wrists. And Maura knows better than to simply ignore it for too long.

Hopefully keeping her eyes on Jane, she pulls away and gets up. "I could use your help with something…"

"With what?"

"Just come with me…"

"Make me…," Jane grins and refuses to leave her spot.

Pointedly, Maura takes the box of chocolates from the table and saunters off towards the hallway.

"That's called blackmailing, Doctor Isles!" Admitting defeat, Jane grabs the wine and both their glasses and grudgingly follows the sound of Maura's laughter upstairs.

With a sulky expression on her furry face, Jo Friday remains behind on the couch and watches the two women disappear but then sprawls out her legs on the cushions. At least, she has the whole couch to herself now. That's something. Right?

…

…


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:**__ Have I mentioned that I never spend this much time with characters in the bedroom? Like, never ever? Screenplays are so much easier… All you need to write is basically "They kiss. CUT TO…" or "They make love. FADE OUT." Baaahhh… So, this chapter is brought to you with the support of a whole bottle of Chardonnay… Let me know whether I should drink less or more wine next time… (Wait, what? Next time?!)  
And bonus points to Guest #1 — you were right about this next part._

* * *

…

**Chapter 18**

_**April 7, 2014 (continued)**_

A minute later, Jane finds herself in Maura's bedroom, wine and the two glasses still in her hands, unsure what to do with herself after Maura told her to wait and disappeared into the adjacent bathroom. But then she spots the box of chocolates — or what is left of them — on the bed, and her mind instantly wanders back downstairs… to the couch… to the previous thirty minutes… to the warmth of Maura in her arms… to the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach every time the blonde's lips touched her own…

Feeling her tongue tickle at the mere thought of that delightful harmony between her chocolate and Maura's wine, Jane places the bottle and the two glasses on the nightstand and plops down on the bed. Smiling in anticipation, she frees another piece of chocolate from its plastic wrap and pops it into her mouth, welcoming the familiar cocoa taste and yearning for that complementary Cabernet.

"Don't you dare eat more of that chocolate without me!" Maura's voice warns from the bathroom when the rustling of the box betrays Jane's clandestine intentions.

"I'm not," Jane lies, with her mouth full and the box of chocolates still in her hands, and grins apologetically as Maura re-enters the room.

Shaking her head in amusement, Maura pads back to the bed and sits down next to the brunette, pleased to see that her strategically placed chocolates fulfilled their purpose and that Jane is still relaxed. But she knows it won't last for long. Hesitantly, she reveals a small plastic bag with different medical supplies. "I'm supposed to change my bandages once a day… Could you help me with that?"

And as expected, Jane's smile fades away at the sight. The thought of having to look at the visible scars branded into Maura's innocent skin abruptly brings back all her still lingering sorrows that she has successfully pushed to the depths of her mind. "Can't you do it alone…?"

"I guess I could, but it would be easier with your help," Maura points out quietly and picks a sterile gauze bandage roll from the bag.

"I… I don't really wanna see it…," Jane admits and puts the box of chocolates on the nightstand, seizing it as a convenient pretense to avert her eyes.

But Maura waits until she turns back around, knowing quite well what goes on in Jane's mind at the sight of the white fabric covering her wrists. And she is determined to eradicate those thoughts before they get a chance to grow too strong. "It doesn't look that bad…," she promises when the brunette shyly glances at her bandages again.

"In comparison to what? To the bodies of those burned felons we found the other day?"

Noticing the insecurity in Jane's voice, Maura reaches for her hand and encouragingly squeezes her trembling fingers. "Please…?"

After another silent pause, Jane eventually nods. "What do you want me to do?"

"We just need to take off the old dressing, make sure the skin is clean, apply some ointment, and then put on new bandages," Maura explains rather factually and rolls up the sleeves of her pullover. She hands Jane a pair of scissors, then offers her right wrist first.

Carefully, Jane cuts the tape that holds the dressing together and begins to take it off, layer by layer, until Maura's bare skin is revealed. And in any other case, she would have agreed that it doesn't look too bad. But seeing those irritations and tiny blisters on Maura's otherwise immaculate skin makes it appear so much worse than it probably is. Fighting the lump in her throat at the sight of that battered wrist, Jane softly strokes the unharmed skin along the edges of the wound.

"In two or three weeks, you'll barely be able to see it," Maura tries to reassure her.

"I'll always know it's there," Jane objects quietly.

Wishing there was an easier way to relieve the brunette of her discomfort and guilt, Maura scoots closer and rests her head on Jane's shoulder, then offers her left wrist.

Without words, but drawing from the nearness and support of the blonde leaning against her, Jane repeats the procedure until the skin on Maura's other wrist is also exposed. "Now what…?"

Maura briefly inspects her wrists, making sure there is no sign of an infection or dirt in the sensitive skin. "There's a tube of antibiotic ointment in the bag…"

Jane fishes the tube out of the bag, squeezes some ointment onto her fingertips, and begins to carefully rub it into the skin of Maura's right wrist, mentally flinching herself whenever the blonde's fingers reflexively flinch. Trying to focus on the warmth of Maura's cheek against her shoulder and on the scent of her hair, Jane finishes her treatment of the first wrist and then continues with the other one until all of the irritated skin is properly covered.

As they sit in silence for a little while, waiting for the ointment to dry, Jane absentmindedly encloses Maura's fingers in her own. "Your doctor said there could be some long-term effects…?"

"Maybe…," Maura murmurs into the brunette's shoulder. "But you shouldn't worry about that. I'm feeling fine, and those long-term effects are more frequent with high-voltage injuries."

"Promise you'll tell me if there's any problem?"

"Don't worry, it'll be fine…"

Not satisfied with that answer, Jane nudges the blonde until she looks up and their eyes meet. "I'm serious. You're not alone with this, Maura."

"I know," Maura smiles thankfully.

And for a moment, as she is losing herself in those reassuring hazel eyes, Jane can't help but wonder whether maybe she herself is the one who's not alone. Not anymore. Holding on to that thought, she leans over and plants a soft kiss on Maura's lips and feels the blonde respond with the same desire for more.

But then Maura pulls away, regretfully, and points down at her wrists. "We should probably finish this first…"

"Probably…" Running her tongue over her lips to savor the faint traces of their kiss, Jane sits back up, lets Maura hand her some fresh bandages, and begins to wrap them around the blonde's wrists.

"Did you know that your chances to survive a lightning strike in the US are as high as approximately 90%?" Apparently, Maura's brain seeks to distract itself from the thought of their passionate kissing with the help of dispassionate facts.

"Are you already planning your next electricity adventure?"

"No… I just find it interesting…"

Suppressing a chuckle, Jane finishes dressing Maura's first wrist and continues with the other one. "And did _you _know that they sell more than three million Fenway Franks per season?"

Maura glances at the brunette from the side. "Is there a reason why you're telling me this?"

"Nope… But you're not the only one who can spout random little fun facts…"

With her hands still under Jane's control, Maura teasingly kicks the brunette's calf with her foot.

"Oww…," Jane protests playfully, then finishes the blonde's other wrist. "Alright, done…"

"We still have to do the other one…"

"The other one?"

Maura wordlessly takes off her pullover to reveal another gauze pad on her chest, covering a spot close to her heart, just above the hemline of her dark silken top.

Biting her lip as suppressed memories of Maura sitting in that basement pour back into her mind, Jane lets her fingers glide over the pad and over the dark bruise on Maura's throat from Howell's hit. And instantly, she can feel her anger surge up inside again, competing for her attention with the placid touch of Maura's hand traveling up her arm and caressing the hairline in the back of her neck.

After another moment of silence, Jane regains her focus and peels off a corner of the tape holding the gauze pad in place. "Want me to pull it off slowly or fast?"

But before Maura gets a chance to answer or flinch, Jane seizes the split second in which the blonde ponders her response and swiftly tears off the tape.

"Fast… apparently," Maura jokes in surprise.

Jane smiles but keeps her eyes on Maura's chest and begins to carefully remove the gauze. "Ma used to do it like that when we were young… It never hurt." And for a moment, she is almost at ease, but when all the gauze is removed and she sees the red, irritated skin, together with the purple bruise slightly above, Jane can't help but remember what happened in that basement… what Howell asked her to do… and what she eventually did…

Feeling Jane tense up, faint tears glistening in her eyes, Maura reaches for the tube of ointment in order to do the rest herself, but Jane decisively takes it from her hand. "It's okay, I'll do it…"

Without protest, Maura lets her apply the ointment, lets her lean fingers gently touch the wound.

And even though Jane feels Maura's hand slightly wince in her nape whenever the ointment hurts her irritated skin, the blonde doesn't say a word. And it only increases Jane's admiration. Superficially, Maura might appear to be the weaker one, but no matter how much she teases her about her shoes, and her kale, and her fancy dresses that could bring the dead on her table back to life, Jane cannot deny the truth that, of the two of them, Maura clearly is the stronger one.

When she is done applying the ointment, and they're once again waiting for it to dry, Jane pensively keeps her eyes on Maura's chest, on the visual reminders of the darkest moments of their lives. And as if she could somehow undo the damage that has been done, she begins to plant soft kisses around the edges of Maura's burned skin, lets her lips travel over the purple bruise, then leaves a trail of affection along Maura's neck, and her jawline, and her cheek, all the way up to the small cut above her eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you," Jane whispers before she fondly breathes another kiss on the blonde's brow.

"Don't be," Maura whispers back, her eyes closed as she lets the brunette's caresses blur the memories they're both trying to forget. "It's not your fault."

For a few quiet moments, Jane continues to cover Maura's skin with kisses, then she reaches for a new gauze pad and begins to dress the wound on Maura's chest. Once she is done, she puts the new supplies back into the plastic bag and gathers the used bandages in another small bag to be disposed.

"I meant what I said, Jane," Maura breaks the silence when she notices an all too familiar shadow of guilt in the brunette's eyes. "It's not your fault."

Shrugging almost indifferently, Jane turns away, about to get up, but Maura holds her back, takes the two bags from her, and drops them to the floor at the foot end of the bed. Insistently, she looks at the brunette. "None of this is your fault."

"Yeah, I know," Jane sighs and averts her eyes.

"I don't think you do. Look at me." Maura cups the brunette's face. "It's not your fault, Jane."

Jane nods weakly, trying her best to convince the blonde that her message has been received.

But Maura knows her too well, and she can't ignore the gloom in the brunette's eyes. "I'd like you to say it."

"No, come on, you know I hate those psycho—"

"Just say it, Jane."

Even though Maura's voice is soft and calm, its subliminal undertone leaves no doubt about the seriousness of her intentions. Giving up her futile resistance, Jane holds the blonde's encouraging gaze. "It's not my fault…"

And it feels as if a giant weight has been lifted from her heart. Maybe not forever, but at least for now.

Pleased to see that distinctive prankish sparkle return to Jane's eyes, Maura gently strokes her unbruised cheek. "Now, don't you ever forget that, okay?"

"Okay…"

"And there's something else I want you to remember…"

"What?"

In place of a response, Maura pulls Jane closer to reunite their lips, to fill her with warmth and love, to let her know in the most intimate way that there is truly nothing she is blaming her for.

"I'm not sure I'll remember that…," Jane jokes as her spirits reawaken. "I might need another reminder… You know, just in case…"

And Maura does not hesitate to provide further mnemonic support. Once again, she captures Jane's lips, more passionately now, allowing their tongues to embrace in unbridled delight.

"How about now?" Maura gasps as they both catch their breath.

Jane challengingly smirks at the blonde. "Uh… third time's the charm…"

Secretly rejoicing in the brunette's swift change of mood, Maura pushes her backwards onto the bed and lies on top of her, then re-conquers her lips, links her fingers with Jane's, feels her melt into the kiss.

After another close encounter of the intimate kind, they finally pause, giving their bodies time to breathe. And as Jane simply basks in the warmth of Maura's affectionate eyes, she hesitates for a moment but then squeezes the blonde's fingers still entangled with her own. "I love you…"

And Maura's smile grows even brighter. "I know."

Caught a little off-guard, Jane raises her eyebrow. "Did you just go all Han Solo on me?"

"Is that the guy with the hairy buddy?"

"With the Wookie, yes… Chewbacca…"

Maura playfully runs her fingers through Jane's hair, ponders the thought. "If I'm Han Solo, does this mean you're my Wookie?"

The resulting hearty laughter from Jane almost shakes the blonde off of her chest. "No, actually, that would make me your Princess Leia."

"Hmm…" Maura studies the distinct features of the brunette's face. "I think you're more like that Wookie…"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing…"

Maura quickly silences Jane's impending protest with another sensual kiss. But then she slowly pulls back, and her voice turns more sincere. "Are you going to stay over tonight?"

Jane smiles hesitantly. "Do you want me to?"

The blonde nods, a mix of relief and anticipation filling her face. "I'm just going to check on Bass and Jo Friday again and turn off the lights… Do you need anything from downstairs?"

"Nope…," Jane smirks teasingly. "But say goodnight to your turtle from me…"

Her heart dancing with joy, Maura playfully pecks the brunette's cheek. "Tortoise…" Without waiting for a response, but only reluctantly leaving the warmth of Jane's embrace, she heaves herself up from the bed and quickly disappears towards the stairs.

Remaining behind on the bed, Jane closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, subconsciously playing with Maura's pullover left on the pillows, trying to hold on to the scent and the warmth of Maura still lingering all around. But as her thoughts begin to drift off and her pulse gradually speeds up, she realizes that she hasn't really thought this through. And clearly, this is something that warrants at least a few further thoughts. Napping together on the couch is one thing… Harmless… Nothing out of the ordinary between friends… And kissing as if there were no tomorrow? Well… After everything they've been through, it could probably be excused as a temporary loss of control… A mutual invasion of each other's personal space in the heat of the moment… But now she is lying on Maura's bed… waiting for the blonde to return… about to explore those perfect curves she has secretly admired so often before… curves that are hidden in plain sight, accentuated by Maura's tailor-made clothes… curves that are now yearning for her touch…

And the thought of that is… a little frightening…

Feeling her heart thumping like mad, Jane jolts up, stretches her legs, reaches for the wine from the nightstand and pours herself a glass… hoping that an appropriate amount of the juicy liquid will drown the panic slowly filling her mind… then nervously pacing the room while downing the wine… glancing at the alarm clock next to the bed… What the hell is taking Maura so long?

Trying to calm herself, she plops back down onto the bed, crosses her legs, and takes another deep breath. But then she realizes that she is still wearing her shoes, and the thought of ruining Maura's immaculate sheets instantly sends her pulse back to its previous heights. Cursing through her teeth, she takes off her sneakers and carelessly drops them to the floor.

And as she is sitting alone on the bed and lets her eyes wander around the room, she fully notices the interior design of her surroundings for the very first time. The light blue paint on the walls… The dreamy painting of the ocean hung over the bed… The few pieces of furniture in complementary tones of white and brown… The delicate flowery scent… The soothing atmosphere that the room provides… To a troubled mind like hers… And she wonders whether Maura's placidity is simply fostered by this design or whether maybe the blonde is haunted by her own demons and desperately trying to keep them away at night…

But no matter what truth may lie beneath, Jane can't help but acknowledge that the room is as perfect as the person responsible for its design. And now the same person has invited her to stay… with all her imperfection and flaws…

Feeling her panic regain control of her mind, she gets up again, grabs the bottle of wine to refill her glass, and chug-a-lugs another healthy dose of Cabernet — just as Maura steps back into the room.

"You know, it would be even faster if you drank it straight from the bottle," the blonde comments teasingly.

Startled, Jane spins around and barely manages not to choke. "Now that would be just rude…" Pointedly, she pours herself another glass.

Rolling her eyes in amusement, Maura sashays to the bed, places the bottle of water she's carrying on the nightstand, and slips out of her shoes and into Jane's arms.

And even though Jane welcomes the nearness that she is slowly getting addicted to, it does not dispel her nervousness. "So… I don't think I've ever told you, but I like your interior design… The blue is kinda, you know, relaxing…"

"That is the desired effect, yes," Maura confirms, wondering how much more blue it would take to calm her down right now… Because even though she has spent the last ten minutes secretly emptying half a bottle of wine downstairs, her pulse is still racing at the thought of whatever might happen next. Hoping that Jane won't notice the slight trembling of her fingers, she steals the glass of wine from the brunette, takes another sip, then puts it on the nightstand and focuses her attention on Jane's hands in her own.

"And what's the smell?" Jane's eyes are still wandering around… aimlessly… avoiding…

"Jasmine… It relieves stress and aids memory," Maura explains and begins to rub her thumbs over the scars on Jane's hands.

"Oh… so that's where you get your super memory from…?"

"Maybe…"

And when their eyes finally meet, Maura can't help but find the panic written all over Jane's face oddly comforting.

"Are you nervous?"

"No…"

Playfully, the blonde pulls down the neckline of Jane's T-shirt and peeks at her skin. "It's a good thing you don't get hives when you're lying…"

Determined to prove the truth of her statement, Jane boldly lets her fingers trace Maura's already bare shoulders. "Well, I'm just concerned for your health… Aren't you supposed to keep your heart rate low for while? I mean… let's be honest, what we're about to do will definitely get your heart rate up…"

"I'm glad your confidence hasn't suffered…" Suppressing her laughter, Maura eagerly accepts the brunette's challenge and runs her fingers up Jane's arms. Unambiguously…

"I'm just saying… I'm not ready to do CPR on you again…"

"Well, you did pretty well last time…"

Unwilling to give in first, Jane leans forward and teasingly kisses Maura's neck… moving upwards little by little… until her lips suggestively nibble at the blonde's ear… "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you when I'll sweep you off your feet…"

"I think I'll take my chances…," Maura whispers in delight, almost forgetting about their little game… But then her fingers gently travel down Jane's back… finding their way to her waist… sliding under her shirt and tickling the quivering skin…

And for a few moments, they both indulge in a stalemate of fondling and teasing… their bodies merging in aroused anticipation… their fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake…

Until Jane finally concedes…

"Don't you think it's at least a little awkward?" Unable to conceal the trembling in her voice, she rests her forehead against that of the blonde.

Subtly smiling at her victory, Maura keeps her hands on Jane's waist. "Why? I've seen you naked before…"

"But have you done _this_ before? I mean, with a woman?"

"Hmm… in my mind…"

Surprised, Jane's fingers halt their caressing play on Maura's skin. "Yeah? With who?"

"_Whom_…"

Eyebrow raised, Jane pulls back and incredulously stares at the blonde. "Really?! Grammar lessons in the bedroom?"

"There's no need to shed your proper grammar along with your clothes," Maura declares matter-of-factly before her lips begin to explore the brunette's neck.

"Well… you didn't answer my question though…"

"Hmm?"

Her curiosity gaining the upper hand, Jane gently pushes Maura back until they're face to face. "With _whom_ have you done this in your mind?"

Without failing to notice the hint of jealousy resonating in the brunette's voice, Maura tilts her head. "I think you can figure this out by yourself, Detective…"

For a moment, Jane obtusely frowns at the blonde… until she understands. "Oh… I see…" And despite her best attempts to hide it, a self-confident grin spreads over her face. "And what exactly have we been doing? In your mind…?"

Wondering how much longer she can hold herself back, Maura subtly takes a deep breath. "We certainly haven't been talking this much…"

But apparently, the hint was too subtle for Jane. "Well, you're the one who always wants to talk about everything and—"

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

"Just shut up and kiss me!"

And for a little while, Jane gladly obeys, lets her lips and her tongue do all the talking without any words… But then her mind catches up and she pauses again. "Wait, when have you seen me naked?"

Silently wishing she had given Jane more time with that bottle of wine, Maura musters what little patience she has left. "When we had to take a decontamination shower in the crime lab…"

"Hey, you weren't supposed to be looking!"

"Neither were you."

"I wasn't."

Knowingly, Maura snorts with amusement. "Oh, please, if I hadn't already been naked, you would have undressed me with your eyes."

Trying not to laugh or blush, or both, Jane shakes her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Let me refresh your memory then!" Determined to get this game going, Maura takes off her silken top, revealing a black bra underneath and leaving most of her upper body invitingly exposed. "Does this look familiar?"

"Well, guess what, two can play this game!" Resolutely, Jane takes off her T-shirt, now wearing only her sports bra underneath. "Does _this _look familiar?"

Victoriously, Maura grins at the brunette. "I don't deny having seen you naked before, so the point you're trying to make is moot."

"That is… true…," Jane admits and curls her lips at the sight of her shirt on the floor.

"But keep going…," Maura clearly doesn't mind and playfully lets her fingers conquer the brunette's well-toned abdomen.

Feeling her whole body quiver at the mere touch of the blonde's fingertips on her skin, Jane secretly wonders whether Maura's CPR skills are on par with her own. Because, clearly, given how fast her heart is beating already, her night will certainly end with cardiac arrest. And thus, she decides to give her personal doctor another opportunity to practice her mouth-to-mouth technique. Just in case… Still keeping one arm around Maura, Jane reaches for the box of chocolates on the nightstand and offers it to the blonde. "Here, have another one…"

A little confused, Maura lets a piece of chocolate disappear in her mouth and watches Jane pour herself another glass of wine. "We don't have to do this tonight if you're not ready…"

Ignoring the suggestion, Jane gulps down her wine and puts the glass away. "Just shut up and kiss me."

And this time, it is Maura who gladly obeys.

Gaining new courage from the familiar harmony of chocolate and wine reaching her gustatory sense, Jane intensifies her kiss… lets her hands teasingly caress Maura's sides… runs her fingers up and down… until they find the waistband of Maura's pants and effortlessly pull it down…

Her lips moving from Maura's mouth to her neck, sucking and teasing and sending alluding signals along their way, Jane waits for the blonde to step out of the puddle of garments gathering around her feet… then lets her pull down her own sweatpants and fondle her thighs… before bringing their bodies back together… merging with the blonde in her arms… moving them both towards the bed…

… until a pair of carelessly dropped sneakers thwarts her plan.

Losing her balance as she steps on the unexpected obstacle lying on the floor, Jane trips over her pants, pulling Maura with her, and in one awkward attempt to prevent a more serious fall, they both tumble into the soft sheets of Maura's bed.

"Whoa… what the…?!" Jane gasps in surprise and looks at her feet with her pants still wrapped around her ankles. Annoyed, she tries to shake them off but then halts her attempts when Maura breaks into laughter.

"I didn't know you were being literal when you said you'd sweep me off my feet!"

"That's not funny!"

Maura's continued laughter clearly proves her wrong.

After finally getting rid of her pants, Jane rolls onto her side and watches Maura laugh, or rather, trying to contain her laughter. But her efforts are in vain, and Jane is still not quite amused. "Well… ready when you are…," she grunts with a playful pout.

"Feel free to continue…," Maura chuckles as she glances at the brunette. "But can you please try not to push me out of my bed?"

When another bout of giggling shakes Maura's whole body, Jane buries her face in the sheets and tiredly sprawls her arms and legs into all directions. "Just wake me when you're done…"

"I'm sorry… I'm done…" Still grinning broadly, the blonde bites her lip and scoots closer to Jane.

"You sure?" the brunette murmurs into the sheets.

"Yes…"

And Maura tries her best to keep a straight face. She really does. But as soon as Jane raises her head, still a slightly puzzled look on her face, Maura can't help but break into laughter again.

Rolling her eyes, Jane heaves herself up. "I guess I'm just gonna go downstairs and watch the game…"

"Don't you dare leave." Resolutely, Maura holds her back, wraps her arms around Jane, and pulls her into the comfort of her embrace. "We're not done here…"

And even though it wasn't part of the plan, that little sneakers incident has finally stripped them both of their panic and hesitation.

Hovering over the blonde, all her senses aquiver with anticipation, Jane wipes a strand of hair from Maura's face and plants a soft kiss on her mouth but then pauses again and waits until she has the full attention of those affectionate hazel eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

Maura nods and smiles. "You?"

"Yeah…"

Wrapped in the warmth radiating from the body underneath her own, Jane steals another kiss from the blonde — a temporary parting gift before her lips embark on a journey down Maura's neck… floating across that bruise on her throat… gliding over her shoulder… wandering down her arm and over her elbow and over her bandaged wrist… all the way to her fingertips providing a welcoming place to rest…

Submitting those delicate fingers to the care of her own hands, Jane resumes her exploration… her lips traveling back up on Maura's other arm… leaving a trail of goosebumps behind… breathing gentle kisses onto the skin around the gauze pad on her chest… and finding their way up her neck… until Maura's lips welcome their sorely missed companions back home…

And as they both melt into another passionate kiss, their tongues dancing to a rhythm only they can hear, Maura's fingers go onto their own adventure… leaving the shelter of Jane's hands… boldly moving up her arms then down her sides… and up and down again… and again… before finally landing on her waist… tickling and teasing the brunette's susceptible flesh… until Jane brakes from their kiss with a throaty chuckle… giving in to Maura's fondling of her most sensitive skin…

But the blonde quickly reclaims Jane's lips… gently sucking and tugging and yearning for more… digging her fingers into Jane's skin and drawing her close until she feels their bodies align… And as their lips part again, allowing them both to catch their breath, Maura seizes the moment to slide her hands under Jane's bra, pulls it over her head, drops it somewhere next to the bed… And before the brunette gets a chance to regain her balance propped up on her arms, Maura wraps her legs around Jane's and rolls her onto her back, sliding on top of her until their positions are reversed…

With a lascivious smile playing on the corner of her lips, Maura ignores Jane's surprise at her sudden assertive move and bends down for another kiss… her hands exploring the brunette's now exposed breasts… cupping and massaging their soft flesh… arousing her areolas… kneading and pinching her nipples between her fingertips… until Jane moans in delight…

And somehow, despite all those different sensations flooding her brain, Jane realizes that her own hands have been laying idle by her sides ever since she surrendered to Maura's sensual touch. And while the blonde's lips are still on her own, sucking every ounce of resistance out of her soul and replacing it with warmth and affection and so much more, Jane's fingers settle on the small of Maura's back, tenderly stroking over her skin… traveling up and down her spine… sending shivers of joy through Maura's whole body…

Feeling the blonde's lips tremble and her breathing getting faster, Jane pulls her even closer… undoes her bra and casts it aside… suggestively tugs at the waistband of Maura's panties and slides them down… over her buttocks and her thighs… as far as she can reach… until Maura instinctively slips them off…

Eager to remove that last garment still covering Jane's most private parts, Maura slides further down… spoils Jane's abdomen with her lips and her tongue… her hands still fondling the brunette's breasts before playfully running up and down her sides again… teasing allusively… for moments on end… until she finally pulls Jane's pair of panties down… all the way to her ankles and over her feet… until Jane's long legs are free and hers to explore…

And that is what Maura does… taking her sweet time as her fingers begin their journey back… caressing Jane's ankles… slowly tracing the distinct muscles of her calves… tickling the back of her knees while Jane's hands are clutching the sheets in delight… until she reaches the brunette's inner thighs and starts drawing little circles on the quivering flesh…

Unable to just lie on her back, and yearning to feel Maura in her arms again, Jane pushes herself up and pulls the blonde closer… captures her lips in another long overdue kiss… lets Maura settle on her lap and wrap her legs around her back… And all those yoga sessions are finally paying off…

But then, for a brief moment, they halt their intimate play… bodies entangled and fingers entwined… lost in each other's eyes… searching for final affirmation that this is what they both want…

And as Jane lets her eyes wander over the body that Maura so willingly entrusts to her care, she understands that it stands for so much more than their mutual trust… that it offers the promise of a common future based on a common past… that every part of Maura's body holds shared memories of the path that finally led them here… From Maura's legs that ran alongside her own during their first marathon together… to the faint scar on Maura's abdomen from the kidney donation that made her realize that she loved the blonde so much more than Casey or anybody else in her life… to Maura's soft fingers that soothingly rubbed the scars on her hands in times of distress… to Maura's shoulders that she could cry on after Frost's death… and to Maura's eyes that never judge and always make her feel at home…

And as Jane's dark brown eyes once again meet with Maura's hazel ones, they both find the answer they've been wishing for…

Without the need for words, they lean in for another kiss… almost hesitantly now and full of love… as they both wrap one arm around each other's back… And with their hands still linked, they both let their other arms find their way down between their legs… where their fingers finally part… and gently glide into each other's welcoming core… softly stroking the pulsating flesh awaiting them inside… finding their rhythm… withdrawing a little only to thrust back deeper inside… again and again… eliciting quiet gasps from their mouths… until they both can't hold back any longer and give in to their need for release that has been nurtured for so many years… quietly… burying their faces into each other's shoulders… sinking their fingers into each other's burning skin…

And for as long as they can, they let those warm waves wash over their bodies… spreading from their cores to their fingertips… filling their veins with love and affection and the feeling of finally coming home.

And they know that this is where they belong.

…

…


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N:**__ Alrighty, two more chapters. The scenes from the previous chapter were from my original ending when I was still aiming for 40K words. But now that we have about 80K words (how the heck did this happen?!), I figured the characters should get some more time to process everything. So this chapter is just me practicing and goofing around and setting up the final chapter. That one will then provide a more appropriate ending to it all. :-)  
__Oh, and I realized that the real world has caught up with my timeline, and if anybody mentions the fact that the Sox did not win their season opener, you'll be in serious trouble. :-/_

* * *

…

**Chapter 19**

_**April 8, 2014**_

Barely two hours of the new day have passed when the threat of a pending nightmare forces Jane's mind to escape from the realms of sleep to seek the comfort of those soft pillows under her head, of that soothing jasmine scent lingering in the air, and of the warmth of Maura next to her — but as she drowsily scoots over towards the other half of the bed, her arms find nothing but cold, rumpled sheets.

Confused, Jane squints and gropes for the bedside lamp's switch in the dark until she finds it and the room is dipped into a calming bluish glow. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she crawls to the edge of the bed and picks up her pants from the floor, then searches for her shirt, in vain, and settles for her tanktop instead. After a long yawn, she heaves herself up and stumbles towards the door — and almost trips over her insidious sneakers again that are still lying next to the bed. Cursing to herself but too exhausted to bother picking them up, she heads for the hallway to search for Maura.

Moments later, she finds the blonde in her yoga room, crouched down on the floor, legs pulled close to her chest and arms wrapped around, head resting on her knees. A little worried, Jane steps closer and kneels down next to her. "Looks like I didn't get the memo that we're going to have a yoga session in the middle of the night…"

"I couldn't sleep…," Maura murmurs tiredly. "I thought some yoga might help but it didn't…"

Feeling her heart tighten at the sight of tears glistening in the blonde's eyes, Jane mirrors her pose and grimaces. "No wonder… This isn't exactly comfortable… What kind of pose is that anyway?"

"The my-ribs-hurt-and-I-don't-want-to-move pose…"

"Remember I said I want to know when there's a problem? This _is_ a problem, Maura." Jane's voice sounds admonishing, even a little harsh, but the thought of Maura left alone with her sorrows is clearly not acceptable. "Next time, you'll wake me, alright?"

"Okay…," Maura sighs and blinks back a tear.

After another moment of silence, Jane moves closer and wraps her arm around the blonde. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Maura faintly shakes her head. "I woke up before it turned into one…"

Trying to come up with an appropriate remedy, Jane gently rubs the small of Maura's back. "Want some ice-cream?"

"No…"

"Panda poop tea?"

"No…"

"Beer and fries?"

"Definitely no."

"Hmm…" Putting on her most charming smile, Jane nudges the blonde. "Wanna come back to bed and cuddle?"

And finally, Maura's face lights up a little. "Yes…"

Satisfied, Jane hops back onto her feet and holds out her hand to help Maura up but fails to ignite a reaction. "Uh, you know, this would be the moment when you get up."

"I know…" But the blonde still doesn't move.

"Well, I would offer to carry you back to bed, but I'd probably bump your head against the door frame and drop you to the floor…"

"Probably…"

"Come on, you can do it…" Determined to get them both back into the bed's warm sheets, Jane reaches for Maura's arms and carefully drags her up. When the blonde finally stands and tiredly rubs her eyes, Jane pauses and pulls her into a hug — not without noticing that she's wearing her missing BPD T-shirt. "And just FYI, I only have one T-shirt with me, so if you decide to wear that, I have nothing else to put on."

"I don't see any problem with that…," Maura murmurs into the brunette's shoulders.

Chuckling quietly, Jane places a soft kiss on the blonde's cheek, then leads her back to the bedroom.

Moments later, when Jane's mind is already back in bed and her body is about to follow, Maura suddenly stops her, signals her to wait, then pointedly picks up Jane's sneakers and drops them at the foot end of the bed. "You're welcome…"

"Still not funny," the brunette pouts but can't hold back a smile as she climbs into bed. Invitingly, she lifts the duvet for Maura to crawl under but apparently, the blonde's interest has been caught by one of her science magazines on her nightstand. Annoyed, Jane sits back up. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I won't be able to sleep, so I might as well seize the time and read something," Maura explains absentmindedly, her eyes still on her magazine. "Did you know that the—"

Without warning, Jane rips the magazine out of her hands and tosses it away. "No, I did not know that, and no, I do not want to learn about it right now."

"But… this is my bedroom," Maura objects in confusion. "If I want to read something, you can't just forbid it."

"Fine, then read my lips!" Jane lifts the duvet once more. "Get back in here!"

Heaving a sigh in protest, the blonde reclaims her half of the bed, dims the bedside lamp, and lets Jane cover them both with the duvet. But despite feeling pretty darn cozy, she can't just overlook the fact that her beloved magazine is now out of reach. This could set a precedent after all. Stubbornly, she ignores Jane's advances under the duvet. "Your feet are cold…"

"Well, gee, I wonder why," Jane grunts and teasingly rubs her feet against Maura's legs.

And inevitably, those cold toes running up and down her calves warm the blonde's heart and definitely demand a different strategy. "Your arms are cold, too…"

Happily playing along, Jane wraps her arms around Maura and pulls her closer.

"And your hands…"

Almost instantly, Jane's hands enclose Maura's.

But then the blonde seems to feel quite contented — and it leaves the brunette feeling rather discontented. "You know, my lips are also kinda cold…"

"No, I think they're alright…"

Eyebrows raised in disapproval, Jane glares at Maura… until the blonde can't keep a straight face any longer and gives in. "Well, maybe they're a little cold…"

Without waiting for a second invitation, Jane's not-so-cold lips find Maura's and steal a long and loving kiss that will certainly keep them warm for the rest of the night.

Hoping for them both to be spared from further nightmares, Jane rests her head on Maura's shoulder and closes her eyes. "By the way, Korsak forced me to take the day off tomorrow," she murmurs, ready to be pulled back into sleep. "Which means you won't be allowed to leave your bed, and I'll take care of everything…"

Unfortunately, this raises several questions for a not yet sleepy Maura. "What if I need to urinate?"

"Fine… bed and bathroom," the brunette concedes sleepily.

"And what if I get hungry?"

"Then I'll bring you something to eat."

"But I don't want breadcrumbs in my bed…"

"You won't get bread."

"I don't want Cocoa Puffs in my bed either…"

Frustrated, Jane buries her face in the pillow and whimpers into its fluffy fabric.

"I told you I can't sleep," Maura points out factually.

"You're not even trying!"

"Well… maybe I just need a little help falling asleep…?"

Unable, or unwilling, to discard the unambiguous undertone in the blonde's voice, Jane leans over once again and lets her lips and tongue tell a little bedtime story that doesn't require any words at all. And whenever necessary, her fingers playfully add some extra illustrations on the skin of Maura's arms and her shoulders and her neck…

Several minutes later, Maura finally lets out a happy hum as she snuggles into her pillow and drifts off into a soft slumber.

And Jane would love to do the same — except that now her whole body is wide awake again and tingling with a certain need. Frustrated, she lets her head sink into the pillow next to the blonde and stares at the dimly lit ceiling. Maybe letting Maura read her magazine wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all…

…

…

Several hours later — half of which were spent in a staring contest with the ceiling until sleep finally intervened —, Jane's senses gradually wake up once more on this Tuesday, and this time, the softness of her pillows and the jasmine scent tickling her nose are complemented by the warmth of Maura next to her, or rather, trapped under her arm sprawled across her body. Without moving, Jane squints at the blonde but only to find her fully absorbed in _that_ science magazine in her hands and utterly unaware of Jane awakening.

For a little while, the sight of Maura reading in the morning sunlight provides reason enough for Jane to remain in her pretend-to-be-sleeping state, but when the blonde turns another page, she decides to make her point clear again and rips the magazine out of Maura's hands.

"Good morning to you, too," Maura comments dryly and rolls her eyes.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, not reading…"

"And how long am I supposed to be doing this? It's almost 11."

"What?" Surprised, Jane jolts up and shields her eyes from the sunlight flooding in through the windows. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were showing signs of euneirophrenia," Maura states matter-of-factly but then notices the brunette's worried expression in response. "The peace of mind after a pleasant dream — you looked happy in your sleep."

Partly relieved and partly blushing from the realization that, apparently, she has also been on the receiving end of some secret staring, Jane stretches her arms before clumsily reaching across Maura to snatch a piece of chocolate from her nightstand. Grinning at the blonde's annoyed look, she pops the cocoa snack into her mouth and retreats back to her half of the bed. "Want some breakfast? Although, we should probably call it lunch…"

"Technically, it's still breakfast since the word _breakfast _literally means to break the nightly fast and thus refers to the first meal of the day." Clearly, Maura's brain is already wide awake.

Jane's, however, is not, and she needs a few seconds to process the statement. "I'll take that as a yes…," she finally decides and sleepily slides off the bed at its foot end — and stumbles over her relocated shoes again. Barely managing not to fall, she glares at her footwear. "I think my shoes are trying to kill me…" But instead of some desired words of sympathy, the only sound coming from the bed is Maura's giggling. "Don't you dare laugh!"

Unable to follow this order, Maura pulls the duvet all the way up to her eyes to cover her face and watches Jane trudge towards the door. After sending another disapproving look first to her shoes, then to Maura, the brunette disappears around the corner and stomps downstairs.

Ten minutes later, she returns carrying a tray with two coffee mugs, two bowls, a bottle of milk, and a large box of Cocoa Puffs — the latter of which instantly makes Maura wrinkle her nose.

"No, no, no, don't gimme that look!" Jane forestalls any verbal protest and hands Maura one of the mugs filled with steaming non-instant coffee. "I figured out how to use your fancy coffeebean super collider, so you can certainly figure out how to handle a bowl of my Cocoa Puffs." Ignoring the blonde's reluctance, she fills both bowls with cereals and milk, pointedly puts one of them on Maura's nightstand, then grabs the other bowl and coffee mug and makes herself comfortable on the bed.

Lacking any other options, Maura eventually reaches for her designated bowl, and for a little while, they're both simply consuming their cereals while leaning back against the headboard and letting the sun warm their faces.

Eventually, Jane breaks the silence. "How long will you be on sick leave?"

"Two weeks."

"Well… BPD owes me lots of vacation days… I could take a few days off… If you want…"

"I'd like that…," Maura smiles as she catches Jane's hopeful glance from the side.

"Okay…"

"Does this mean I'm not allowed to leave my bedroom for the next two weeks?"

"We'll see…," Jane grins and takes a large sip from her coffee.

"Well…," Maura considers the situation. "You'd have to take care of Bass then…"

"No problem," the brunette decides and studies the box of cereals. "Turtles like Cocoa Puffs, don't they?"

For a moment, the blonde glares at her in silence, ponders her strategy, then places her bowl on the nightstand and gets up.

Confused, Jane puts away the box of cereals and sits up. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm going to apologize to Bass for certain inconveniences he will apparently have to endure from now on…"

"No, wait, come on…"

Resolutely, Maura reaches for her shoes.

And it has the desired effect on Jane. "Uh, he's a tortoise, alright?"

Suppressing a smile, the blonde pauses. "I'm sorry, what?"

"He's a tortoise. T-O-R-T-O-I-S-E," Jane repeats letter by letter. "And now get back here!"

After another deliberately stretched moment of hesitation, Maura finally crawls back under the duvet and into Jane's arms, letting the brunette spoon her from behind.

And Jane makes sure she can't escape from her embrace again. After all, two can play this game… "Eh, whom are we kidding — he's a turtle!"

Unable to squirm free of Jane's long arms wrapped around her, Maura struggles in vain and eventually gives up her resistance and sighs into the pillow. "Remind me again, why do I put up with you?"

Chuckling victoriously, Jane pecks the blonde on her cheek. "Because I'm you're favorite detective and because you love me…"

"Well, you _are_ my favorite detective…"

"Aaand…?"

"And what?"

"And you love me."

"Hmm…," Maura has no intention to let the brunette win this one as well. "I'll have to discuss that with Bass."

Incredulously, Jane raises her eyebrows. "Why? Do you need to get your feelings for me peer-reviewed?"

"Well, it's an important part of my life, so I need to validate my data," Maura declares insistently and closes her eyes. She might as well let the warmth of the sheets and Jane's embrace lull her back to sleep.

But Jane does not intend to surrender without a proper fight. And since all is fair in war and love, she wipes a strand of Maura's hair away and begins to kiss her neck, softly letting her lips wander back and forth between the blonde's jawline and shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Maura murmurs drowsily yet with unmistakable approval.

"Giving you more data…"

Encouraged by the smile gracing the blonde's lips, Jane continues nuzzling her neck, then slides one hand under her BPD T-shirt that Maura is still wearing… lets her fingers float over awakening abdominal flesh… up and down, and up and down again… promising a little midday delight with every touch of her fingertips… until the blonde reaches for her arms and pulls her even closer, inviting Jane's hands to extend their exploration to certain other parts of her body…

And Jane does not hesitate to grant that wish… allows her hands to travel further up and down… giving equal attention to the smooth curves of Maura's breasts and the aroused skin below her waist… playing with the body wrapped in her arms and finding its sensitive spots… for intimate minutes on end… until she feels Maura trying to anticipate her next moves, quietly moaning and yearning for her touch…

Marveling at Maura trustfully surrendering to her care, Jane tenderly kisses the corner of her mouth, brings their bodies flush together, and lets her hand wander south between the blonde's folds… gently thrusting inside… stroking Maura's heated flesh… hesitant at first, then more assertive… in and out… again and again… until the blonde's breathing becomes faster… until her body tenses up… until she clutches the sheets and buries her face in the pillows… until one last moan of pleasure escapes her lips and she finally collapses in Jane's arms.

Breathless.

Spent.

And feeling alive.

Silently smiling at the woman in her embrace, Jane pulls the duvet over both of them and snuggles up against the blonde. And as Maura's breathing is evening out and she herself is about to slip back into sleep, Jane plants another soft kiss on the blonde's cheek and whispers into her ear. "I love you, Maura…."

…

…

A few hours later, in the early afternoon, Maura is leaning against her kitchen counter — after a certain form of bribery earned her Jane's permission to leave the bedroom — and preparing some salad and sandwiches, though her thoughts are not with the fresh vegetables in her hands but rather circling around the past twenty-four hours and the woman currently taking a shower upstairs. As she is absentmindedly staring at the half-filled salad bowl on the counter, a loud knock on the front door jolts her out of her trance.

Suppressing sudden memories of Howell invading her home, she hesitantly pads to the door but loosens up when she recognizes the gray-haired man waiting on her doorstep. "Sergeant Korsak… uh, hello…"

Wearing his signature smirk and a slightly wrinkled suit, Korsak waves with some folders. "Angela said Jane might be here… I need her to sign off some case files."

"I see… yes… uh, she's here…," Maura confirms and barely stops her mind from imagining Jane standing naked in her shower. "Please, come in."

Gladly accepting the invitation, and wisely keeping quiet about the fact that Maura is wearing Jane's BPD T-shirt, Korsak follows her inside to the kitchen island. "How are you?"

"I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"If there's anything I can do… you know…" The sergeant worriedly studies her still slightly pale face. "I can't imagine what you've gone through…"

"It's alright," Maura dispels his concern. "Jane and Angela are making sure I have everything I need…"

Suddenly, Jo Friday jumps off the couch, bolts to the kitchen counter, and bounces around Korsak's feet, quite possibly drawn to the dog treats he always carries in his pocket.

"Hey there!" The sergeant cheerfully kneels down behind the counter to run his fingers through the Yorkshire terrier's fur and rewards her with one of his treats.

At the same moment, Jane comes dancing down the stairs, barefoot and wearing just her sweatpants and her tanktop, her hair still damp from the shower. When she spots only Maura in the kitchen, she tiptoes towards her target, sneaks up on her from behind, and unambiguously wraps her arms around the blonde's waist. "Since you insist on wearing my shirt, you leave me no choice…"

Barely able to stop Jane from pulling up her T-shirt, Maura shrinks back. "No, don't—"

Before she can finish her warning, Korsak peeks up from behind the kitchen counter, and Jane freezes in surprise.

"Korsak?! What are you doing here?"

Intuitively, the sergeant plays it cool and points at his folders lying on the counter. "Need you to sign off some files…"

"Uh… yes… sure," Jane stutters and discreetly lets Maura escape from her grip and resume her salad preparations. While Korsak's eyes are still going back and forth between the two women, Jane finally regains her composure and subtly clears her throat. "Files, Korsak…"

"Huh? Oh, yes, sure…," the sergeant straightens himself and opens one of his folders.

When Maura catches a glance of a photo of Howell tacked to the first page, she quietly bites her lip and puts away her salad ingredients. After another moment of hesitation, she retreats towards the hallway, faintly brushing over Jane's arm in passing. "I'll be upstairs."

Swallowing her worries, Jane watches her leave before focusing on Korsak and the files in front of her.

"Timothy Turner confirmed that McKee was the student who brought up some of those scenarios in the break room," the sergeant explains. "And Howell had easy access to all those felons through his Chair's involvement in several rehabilitation programs."

His words barely reaching her mind, Jane silently flips through the updated case file. And the photos of that basement, of Howell, and of all those innocents involved in this case clearly don't make it any easier to keep her worries and anger at bay. Just the thought that Maura's name could have been in the list of victims…

"We still haven't found the second candidate, but now that we have those videos, it shouldn't take much longer." Korsak pauses for a moment, watches the brunette with fatherly concern. "Speaking of which, I made sure that those videos are only accessible with appropriate authorization. We don't need the one with you and Doctor Isles to close this case, so it'll be locked up in Evidence."

Jane nods thankfully but then peeks at him from the side. "Did you watch it?"

The sergeant shrugs. "Does it matter?"

After a few seconds of consideration, she shakes her head and signs off the case files.

"Our bomb squads will pay extra attention over the next days to make sure Howell didn't leave any other bombs behind. And after our little gathering at South Station, the media are hungry for information. Harvard will have to do quite some damage control."

"I'm sure they'll come up with a nice story," Jane sighs and closes the file. At least officially, that damn case is finally over.

After having given his partner another moment to take a deep breath, Korsak can't hold back any longer. "So, you and the doc, huh?"

"Yeah… I guess…" Jane's face lights up. "Will that be weird for you?"

"Nah…," the sergeant waves off the thought. "But do me favor. When you're fighting, please, don't do it at work. You have your gun, and she has all her scalpels — I really don't want to be caught in the middle of that."

Jane grins but then her voice turns more serious. "You think we'll be fighting?"

"Of course, you will," Korsak confirms without a doubt. "About the most insignificant little things… But if you keep your eyes on the big stuff, you'll make it work."

"Says the three-time divorcee…"

"Hey, where do you think I got all my wisdom from?"

Collegially patting his arm, Jane walks Korsak to the front door but then holds him back. "I almost forgot — you mind if I take a few days off as long as Maura is on sick leave?"

"Jane Rizzoli wants to take a voluntary vacation?" Wide-eyed, Korsak stares at her in feigned shock. "Must be love then…"

Smiling in response, Jane watches him stroll back to his car. "See ya, Korsak."

When she turns back around, Jo Friday is sitting in the middle of the hallway and expectantly wagging her tail. "Alright, alright, we'll go for a walk."

"Can I come?"

Surprised, Jane looks up to find Maura leaning against the wall, seemingly still irritated by the fresh memories of Howell. "Yeah… You alright?"

"Yes," the blonde nods rather unconvincingly.

Ignoring her dog's impatient growl, Jane approaches Maura. "Are you sure?"

A little insecure, she fidgets with a loose thread of her bandages. "Well… maybe… I mean, could you—"

Already knowing the rest of the question, Jane steps closer and wraps her arms around the blonde. "Do this?"

"Hmm…," Maura nods into the brunette's shoulder.

"If you want a hug, you don't have to ask." After a prolonged silent embrace, Jane pulls back and alluringly looks at the blonde's outfit. "You do, however, have to give me back my T-shirt!"

"You can come and get it upstairs…," Maura suggests and slips out of Jane's arms, tugging her towards the stairs.

But before they get a chance to escape, Jo Friday decides it's time to finally speak her mind, or rather, to bark her mind. And that's what she does.

"Yeees, message received," Jane groans and sends her dog a petulant glare. "We'll be right back. Just give us five minutes."

"Make it fifteen…," Maura quickly objects.

Without further words, they both disappear upstairs leaving a pretty jealous little puppy behind.

For thirty endless minutes.

…

…

The sinking sun is already touching the rooftops of Boston when Jane and Maura are still sitting in the grass at the Esplanade, leaning against a tree in their back and watching Jo Friday play with one of her toys at their feet.

After a quick walk to Jane's apartment earlier to pick up a backpack with fresh clothes, some of her belongings, and another box of Cocoa Puffs despite Maura's vehement protest, they ended up strolling through the Back Bay all afternoon, without a clear destination, occasionally resting on a bench or waiting for Jo Friday to finish inspecting a tree, until they eventually took a turn towards the banks of the river Charles, where Jane opted for a quiet spot in the grass near the Hatch Shell.

But while their initial conversation along the way was filled with lighthearted banter, even with a few jokes about what they've been through, the brunette's mood gradually became more somber and her witty remarks less frequent.

And as Jane now pensively lets her eyes wander from her dog to other Bostonians enjoying the afternoon in the park and to the silhouettes of Cambridge on the opposite side of the river, Maura's curiosity and concern finally win the upper hand.

Playfully, she nudges the brunette. "What are you thinking about?"

"Doesn't really matter…," Jane shrugs absentmindedly but then feels Maura's inquisitive eyes resting on her, demanding a better explanation for her prolonged silence. "It's just… If you had died, I would've never known how you really felt…"

For a moment, Maura hesitates but then quietly admits, "Yes, you would."

"How?"

"I'm keeping a journal, and there's a note on it that says I want you to read it in case something happens to me."

Surprised, Jane turns to the blonde. "You've been writing about me?"

"Sometimes…," Maura confirms with a faint blush that grows darker when Jane quizzically raises her eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that! Journaling has numerous benefits. Writing keeps the analytical left hemisphere of the brain busy and thereby frees the creative right hemisphere. Besides, research suggests that writing about stressful events may actually boost immune functioning."

And Jane's look becomes even more incredulous. "Oh, so, I'm a stressful event?"

"No, of course not," Maura objects appeasingly. "But there were certain things that I couldn't discuss with you."

"You could've tried…"

"You mean like _you_ told me how you really felt?"

"Hm…," Jane leans back again, forced to concede that Maura has a point here. "We're idiots…," she finally chuckles. When there's no objection from the blonde this time, Jane glances at her from the side. "Can I read it?"

"Maybe…," Maura offers shyly. "Some day…"

Not quite satisfied, Jane tries again. "What are you gonna write about this week?"

But the blonde just gives her a secretive smile. "Well, the last few days have been rather uneventful, don't you think?"

"Yeah, so boring…," the brunette agrees jokingly, still determined to find out more. "Are you gonna write that you love a certain detective?"

Ignoring the very same detective, Maura grabs her purse and gets up.

"Come on, you can tell me now," Jane insists and seductively winks at the blonde. "You won't need your journal any longer to boost your immune system. There are certain other activities to help you with that…"

Being very aware of those other activities — and of the fact that engaging in such activities in a public park would raise quite a few eyebrows —, Maura focuses her attention on the little Yorkshire terrier frolicking around in the grass. "I think Jo Friday wants to go and have dinner…"

Curling her lip in defeat, Jane watches Maura pick up her dog and stroll away. After another symbolic moment of protest, she finally slings her backpack over her shoulder, staggers to her feet, and hurries after the blonde.

…

…

Shortly after 6 p.m., the two women have claimed their usual booth in the Dirty Robber, exhausted from all the walking and tempted to slouch on their seats as casually as Jo Friday is sprawled out on the floor. But alas, such lack of restraint is only granted to dogs…

Therefore, while waiting to receive their beverages and to order their food, Jane tries to avert her attention from her tired bones and instead focuses on the large flat-screen TV in the back of the bar with its live coverage of the game between the Red Sox and the Rangers that has just started. But even though her attention does shift, the MLB action unfolding on screen doesn't suffice to prevent her thoughts from circling around a completely different matter. Around something that has been bugging her all day…

Sensing the brunette's uneasiness, Maura intuitively reaches for her hand, plays with those fingers that are now exclusively hers to play with, unaware that her attempt to soothe Jane's mind has the exact opposite effect and only adds to her confusion.

Because something isn't quite right. Somehow, the signals Maura is sending don't make sense. At least not to Jane. And whether it's because of her detective senses working overtime or because of her not so impressive track record with previous relationships, she can't help but try to rearrange those pieces of the puzzle until they fit. But they won't. Something is still missing…

Before Jane has a chance to arrive at a conclusion, or to ask the woman who is unwittingly causing her concern, she notices a waitress approaching their table and instinctively pulls her hand away from Maura's. Oblivious to the emotions it triggers in the blonde…

"What can I get you?" the waitress asks cheerfully and places a bottle of beer and a glass of red wine in front of them.

"A kale salad, a large burger, and some extra large fries," Jane habitually responds and quickly glances at Maura for confirmation.

But the blonde doesn't return her look and instead turns to the waitress. "Could you make that to go, please?"

"Sure," the waitress confirms, her voice a little less cheerful as she notices Maura's tired expression and the large bruise still covering Jane's cheek. "It'll only take a few minutes," she adds before heading back to the kitchen.

Confused by the sudden change of plans, Jane studies Maura's face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm actually getting really tired," the blonde explains quietly, keeping her eyes on her glass of wine. "Maybe just too much walking around…"

"Uh, okay…" Not quite convinced, Jane doesn't take her eyes off of Maura and sips from her beer, her own worries temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. At least the thought of slumping down into Maura's comfortable couch cushions or into her bed is enticing, and taking their food to go might not be a bad idea at all.

…

…

Half an hour later, they're back in Maura's Beacon Hill home, and Jo Friday is the first to secure herself a spot between the cushions on the couch, growling contently and apparently too tired to vie for either of the women's attention tonight.

Suppressing a yawn, Jane heads for the kitchen and puts her burger into the microwave, whereas Maura disappears down the hallway to check on her tortoise.

After a few moments, she returns just as the microwave timer rings and Jane is about to prepare her kale salad on a plate. "No, don't bother. I think I'm going to bed and eat that tomorrow."

"You sure?" the brunette halts her preparations, looking back and forth between the microwave and Maura's food, unsure what to do.

"Don't worry, I won't stop you from eating your burger." The blonde musters a smile. With limited success. "I'm just going upstairs already."

Remaining behind even more puzzled than before, Jane retrieves her burger from the microwave and takes a large bite. But for some reason, it doesn't taste as good as in their booth at the Dirty Robber with Maura criticizing her dietary choices until even the last crumb of the burger has found its way into Jane's mouth. Losing her appetite, she puts her half-eaten burger back on its plate and rushes upstairs.

And even though she already senses that something is wrong, she's still surprised to find Maura standing at the bedroom window and staring outside. "You've been acting weird all night… Are you mad at me?"

Without turning around, Maura simply shrugs. "I told you I'm tired."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't also be mad at me," Jane objects knowingly, having learned from Maura's little trick in that basement to always pay extra attention to her choice of words. Hesitantly, she steps closer. "Come on, just tell me, what did I do?"

"It's nothing," the blonde declares, trying to ignore the warmth of Jane's hands stroking her arms.

"If it's nothing, then why don't you just tell me?" Teasingly, Jane begins to kiss her neck. "Don't make me use my special interrogation skills…"

Unable to focus her thoughts with the brunette's lips still caressing her skin, Maura takes a step away from her. "It's just that… the longer you stay, the more it will hurt when you're leaving."

"What are you talking about?" Jane frowns in confusion. "Who says I'm leaving?"

"Your body language does."

"Uh…" Instinctively, Jane closes the distance between them and once again wraps her arms around the blonde. "So, if I do _this_, you understand it as _I'm gonna leave you_?"

"No, but you pulled your hand away," Maura whispers, feeling her resistance fade away the longer she remains in Jane's embrace. "In the Dirty Robber… when the waitress came to take our order…"

Baffled, the brunette searches for words. "I'm… I guess it was just a reflex…"

"A reflex of your body telling you that you don't want this?"

"What?" Caught off guard by the unexpected assumption, Jane loosens her embrace. "Of all the things we've done over the last twenty-four hours, you focus on this _one _subconscious move?"

"It's been like this all afternoon," Maura points out, seizing the moment to reclaim her personal space. "You… you picked a spot in the park where we couldn't really be seen by anybody either, and… and you've always kept a certain distance while we were walking around… As if… as if you're not ready for this after all…"

Feeling cornered, Jane finally can't hold back her own worries any longer. "Well, what about you? Are _you_ really ready for this? I mean, you seem to have a pretty hard time telling me that you love me."

"What do you mean? I've said it before," Maura objects in surprise.

"No, you've never actually said it," the brunette points out, insecurity resonating in her voice. "Not in that basement, not on the couch last night, and not today even though I've tried several times to get you to say it."

"Wait…," Speechless, the blonde pauses for a moment. "So, you've been trying to manipulate me into saying that I love you?"

"No! … Well… Maybe a little…," And even though Jane is afraid of the answer, she has to ask anyway. "But why is it so hard for you to just say it?"

"I don't know…," Maura sighs and turns away, gazing out of the window. "Maybe I'm… maybe I'm just afraid that you're doing this because you feel guilty… What if at some point you realize that you don't want this after all?"

Slowly beginning to understand the blonde's concern, Jane steps closer again. "What's with the sudden pessimism? We can make this work…"

"What if we can't?" Sadness fills Maura's eyes as she faces Jane. "If things don't work out between us, everything will change. And I will be left with nothing…"

And suddenly, Jane realizes just how much is at stake for Maura and how much her life is intertwined with the lives of all the Rizzolis who have invaded her house and her heart over the past few years. If Maura's fear came true and they were to separate, she would end up all by herself, with her adoptive parents minding their own business in Europe, her biological father locked up in prison, and her biological mother being too self-absorbed to truly care. And the mere thought of Maura sitting alone in her empty great room, gradually changing back into the Queen of the Dead with her feelings securely locked away, makes Jane's heart writhe in pain. But she has no intention to ever let things get that far. She just needs to find a way to convince Maura of the sincerity of her intentions.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Just do it." Without waiting for a reaction, Jane encloses Maura's hands in her own and places a soft kiss on her lips. Caring and full of love… Like a promise… "Does this feel right to you?"

The blonde nods quietly.

"This… _this _is what I want," Jane reaffirms her choice without letting go of Maura's hands. "This feeling that things are the way they're supposed to be… And I _am_ ready for this. Maybe I still need to convince my body to stop sabotaging me with its stupid reflexes, but I _want _this."

And Maura wants to believe her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," the brunette nods without doubt. "I can't promise there won't be days when I just want to run off, but I guess you'll just have to make sure that I won't get away… Can you do that?"

After another second of hesitation, Maura wraps her arms around Jane and locks her into a tight embrace, her voice still a little somber. "You mean like this?"

"Yup… that could work…," Jane grins and kisses her again. "I won't leave you, Maura. And if you give me a little more time, I'm sure I can get this PDA thing right…"

Confused, Maura wrinkles her forehead. "What do you want a PDA for?"

"PDA as in Public Display of Affection," the brunette explains. "I'll work on that… And in the meantime, I'm always available for some non-public display of affection, you know…"

Taking the hint, Maura leans in for another kiss, her confidence gaining new strength with every touch of their lips. "I suppose I could live with that…"

And Jane realizes that she already knows everything she needs to know. "And I guess I could live without you saying _I love you_. I mean, it would be nice if you did at some point, but you've already shown it in so many ways… You don't have to say it if you don't want to…"

Smiling affectionately, the blonde rewards her with another kiss.

Motivated by a wave of dopamine released in her brain, Jane grins teasingly. "Although now would be an awesome moment to say it…"

Ignoring her suggestion, Maura chuckles and pecks her on the cheek instead before escaping from their embrace and getting ready for bed.

"Or, you could say it in a different language if that makes it any easier…," the brunette proposes, earning herself another amused smile. "Just a suggestion…"

Unimpressed, the blonde climbs into bed.

"You could sing it…"

Still ignoring Jane's little game, Maura invitingly lifts up the duvet. "Are you coming or what?"

Playfully sighing in protest, the brunette trudges to the bed, plops down, and soon finds herself wrapped in the warmth of the duvet and Maura's arms. "You know, you could even do a fancy duet with your turtle…"

And as they both drift into sleep with a smile on their faces, neither of them has any doubt that they will make this work.

…

…


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N:**__ And the last one. Obviously, there's only one way how this story can end. :-)  
Thanks again for all the reviews/PMs/favs. Even though I was rather busy and couldn't always respond individually this time, your feedback has been very much appreciated!_

* * *

…

**Chapter 20**

**April 22, 2014**

Two very relaxing weeks later, on her last day before having to dive back into her daily routine in the morgue, Maura patiently steers her Prius through the crowded streets of Boston on her way home from a final check-up at the hospital. Unwittingly tapping her fingers to the scratchy beats of a rock station Jane insisted on listening to during their last ride, she merges with other cars waiting at some traffic lights on Boylston Street and watches several workers and volunteers remove the last barriers from a — thankfully — peaceful Marathon on the day before. And inevitably, her mind wanders off along the familiar path from reminders of last year's dreadful blast on Patriot's Day, to gloomy memories of the explosion that cost Detective Frost his life, and to haunting thoughts of the bomb that almost wrought havoc over Fenway Park earlier this month. But this time, the bomb did not go off. This time, they eliminated the threat as well as the lunatic professor and his apprentice who had devised this insidious plan. And instead of shrouding her life — and that of every Bostonian — in darkness, the events of that week triggered a series of changes that she had almost stopped believing in. Changes that resulted in a certain detective and her Yorkshire terrier becoming more than just frequent guests at her house…

A faint smile plays on Maura's lips at the thought of that, and she swiftly maneuvers her car through the midday stop-and-go traffic as the lights finally turn green.

Ten minutes and as many traffic lights later, she pulls her Prius into the driveway of her Beacon Hill home, grabs her purse, and hurries to the front door.

Once inside, and confused by the rather unusual quiet in the house, Maura is just about to call for Jane when she spots her snoozing on the couch, lying on her side with Jo Friday sprawled out under her arm, her hand dangling over the edge, and her fingers still clutching a large green leaf that is currently being devoured by a delighted tortoise sitting on the floor.

Amused by the sight, Maura tiptoes to the couch and sits down next to the brunette's legs, earning herself an annoyed glance from Jo Friday, who has long given up vying with her for Jane's attention. Dutifully, the terrier relinquishes her seat and hops off the couch — but not without making her discontent known through appropriately loud barking.

"What now?!" Jane grumbles into the cushions but then sleepily blinks and finds Maura at her side. "Hey, you…"

"I see you've found a new friend…," Maura smiles and points at Bass still nibbling his leaf.

"More like _he_ found _me_," Jane sighs and tosses the leaf a few feet away. "He kept following me around."

"I guess he likes you," the blonde muses as she watches her tortoise crawl towards his snack. "Although I'm not really sure why…"

"Hey!" The brunette playfully punches her arm. "You should show some gratitude after I've spent two hours in the store looking for your stupid tempeh-quinoa-whatever-crap on your shopping list."

Unimpressed, Maura reaches for an almost empty pack of chocolate chip cookies on the couch table and critically studies its ingredients. "Maybe it would have been faster if you had skipped the cookies section…"

Sensing a pending lecture on her choice of lunch, Jane snatches the pack from the blonde's hands. "Just don't make me go food-shopping for you ever again."

"I did not _make_ you," Maura protests and takes off her jacket, her eyes still on the remaining cookies. "You insisted."

"But only because you gave me that look."

"What look?"

"That look that made me _want to _insist." And seeing that very same look now focusing on her cookies, Jane willingly surrenders her baked goods. Resistance is futile anyway. "So, what did your doctor say?"

Happily letting one of the cookies disappear in her mouth, Maura rolls up her sleeves and reveals her bandage-free wrists.

"They're off!" Jane rejoices and sits up, reaches for the blonde's hands, and inspects the still slightly irritated skin. "Doesn't look too bad…"

"Told you…," Maura murmurs with her mouth full.

"And everything else?"

"Everything is fine."

"Yeah?" Smiling in relief at Maura's affirmative nod, Jane wraps her arms around the blonde and steals the last cookie out of her hands. "You don't want to ruin your health with those now, do you?"

But after everything she's been through, the caloric consequences of chocolate chip cookies have lost their deterrent effect, and Maura instantly reclaims her stolen treat.

Forced to focus on something else, Jane begins to kiss the blonde's neck. "What about the bandage on your chest?"

"Off, too," Maura whispers, trying to decide whether the chocolate taste in her mouth or the soft sensation of Jane's lips causes her more delight.

"I should probably double-check to make sure everything really is fine," Jane declares and pulls down the neckline of Maura's pullover to let her lips float over the freshly healed skin.

"You're getting off-course…," Maura points out moments later as she feels more kisses being planted onto her shoulder and neck. "That's not my chest…"

"I'm just being very thorough…"

Unfortunately, Jane's thoroughness fully consumes both of their attention, and neither of them notices Angela entering through the back door. And despite the Rizzoli matriarch audibly clearing her throat, it takes several seconds until Maura accidentally glances up and spots their involuntary observer.

With cheeks blushing from embarrassment, the blonde quickly shrinks back. "Jane, stop it…"

"Why? Because your turtle is watching?"

"No, because your mother is."

Startled and instantly less aroused, Jane spins around. "Geez, Ma, do you _ever_ knock?!"

Admonishingly raising her eyebrow, Angela approaches the couch. "Do the two of you _ever_ just sit and talk?!"

"Yeah! And miraculously, you never interrupt _that_," Jane moans and leans back in frustration.

However, her statement apparently requires some clarification from Maura. "Actually, we haven't really_ just talked_ lately but—" The sharing of further details is quickly prevented by an unmistakable glare from Jane.

"Well, I just wanted to say goodbye," Angela changes the subject and sits down next to her daughter.

"Because you're moving?" Jane asks hopefully, earning herself a friendly kick against her leg from Maura on her other side. "What?! It's a legitimate question!"

"No, I'm gonna head over to Sean's in a few minutes," the Rizzoli matriarch declares unperturbedly.

"Because you're going to move in with him?" The brunette's second subtle hint results in a second warning kick from Maura. "Ow! Stop it!"

Ignoring her daughter, Angela turns to her long-time host. "Would you like me to move out, Maura?"

"Great, ask the woman who can't say no," Jane murmurs defiantly.

"I can say no to a lot of things if necessary," Maura implies rather unambiguously, then smiles away Angela's concern. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

"You're like the good daughter I've never had," the Rizzoli matriarch sighs with playful relief.

"For the record, I don't like this." Jane uncomfortably wiggles on her seat between the other two women but then notices the Tupperware box in her mother's hand. "What's in there?"

"Nothing," Angela pouts and keeps the box out of her daughter's reach.

Her curiosity winning over her current frustration, Jane grudgingly changes her strategy. "I don't want you to move out, okay?"

But Angela doesn't hand over her goods this easily. "You sure?"

"Yes, I love it when my mother is hovering behind my back twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week!" When her snide remark results in the Tupperware box being moved even further away, Jane sheepishly grins at her mother. "Love you…?"

Rolling her eyes in feigned despair, Angela reluctantly passes the box to Jane and winks at Maura. "Why do you voluntarily put up with that?"

"Well, someone has to, don't you think?" Maura smirks and pointedly ignores Jane's resulting glare.

"In case you missed it, I'm still sitting right here," the brunette protests but then opens her box and gleefully discovers half a dozen self-made cannoli in it. "Ohh…"

But Angela begins to take pleasure in their little 2-on-1. "Can you make her wear something other than that same T-shirt every day?"

"I'm afraid it's a lost cause…," Maura shakes her head, equally enjoying their not-so-serious game.

"Hello?! I can hear you!" Jane complains querulously.

Utterly unimpressed, Angela snatches one of the cannoli. "And have you already noticed that she snores at night?"

"I don't snore!" Jane objects instantly. In vain.

"I've told her before but she won't believe me," the elder Rizzoli woman adds.

Hoping for at least some sympathy, Jane turns to Maura. "Tell her I don't snore!"

"You know I can't lie…," the blonde grins in response and grabs a cannolo.

Whining to herself, Jane reaches for her phone on the table.

"Whom are you calling?" Maura asks in between two bites from her snack.

"Korsak," the brunette says stubbornly. "Maybe he has a nice little murder case to save me from the two of you…"

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Maura takes away her phone and tosses it back on the table. "Come on, we're just teasing you…"

"Yes, you're still my favorite daughter," Angela confirms and locks Jane into an extra-tight Rizzoli hug. Escape impossible. "I'll see you tomorrow at work?"

"Not if I see you first," Jane manages to retort while still stuck in her mother's embrace.

Eventually, Angela lets go and gets up. "Bye, Maura…" She quickly pecks the blonde on her cheek, then leaves through the back door.

As soon as she is gone, Jane turns to Maura. "Seriously, you _have to _change your locks and take away her keys!"

Without warning, her mother pops her head back in. "I heard that, Jane!"

"Good!"

After a brief staring contest — a matter of principle —, the two Rizzoli women can't help but smile at each other, and Angela finally leaves for good.

"So… last day before going back to work," Jane points out regretfully as they are by themselves again and she watches Maura relish her cannolo. "What would you like to do?"

"Well, we already have plans later today," the blonde announces casually.

"We do? What kind of plans?"

"I won't tell," Maura states with a mischievous smile. "It's a surprise."

But naturally, the word _surprise_ triggers Jane's detective instincts. "Does it involve you, me, your couch, and the Red Sox game at 7?"

"No."

"Then I'm pretty sure I won't like that surprise…"

"I'm sure you will."

"Will I have to leave the house?"

"Yes."

"Will I have to put on another T-shirt?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…" Pondering all possibilities, Jane leans back. "I'm definitely not going to like it."

"You don't even know yet what it is," Maura objects, determined not to give in.

"But the Red Sox will be playing…"

"So?"

The lack of interest in Maura's question inevitably brings a semi-serious look of horror to Jane's face. "You know, you're pretty much perfect and all, but you have a really serious flaw."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you still don't care about the Red Sox," Jane sighs in feigned disappointment. "I mean, that's a deal breaker for some people!"

Playing along, Maura intently studies the brunette's face. "Including you?"

"Depends…," Jane teases and pointedly takes her time with the last bite of her cannolo. "What other qualities do you have to make up for it?"

"Well, I help you solve your cases," the blonde offers and puts the Tupperware box on the table.

"Okay…," Jane comments unenthusiastically, waiting for more convincing arguments.

"Your dog listens to me," Maura points out next and playfully runs her fingers over the brunette's arm and shoulder.

"I'm not sure this counts in your favor," Jane smirks, still not impressed. "What else?"

"And I let you eat your cookies on my couch even though half of them apparently ended up between the cushions." Reproachfully, the blonde points at the crumbs scattered all over the couch.

"Okay, we'll definitely count that," Jane concedes sheepishly and wipes some of those crumbs off her seat.

Secretly reminding herself to thoroughly vacuum her couch later, Maura lets her fingers wander up Jane's neck and tickles the skin in her nape. "How many more qualities do I need to beat your Red Sox?"

"Well, they're the defending champion," the brunette explains. "So, you definitely need a few more runs…"

Rising to the challenge, Maura leans over and places a major-league-worthy kiss on Jane's lips. "How many points do I get for that?"

"You've just put a runner on first," Jane announces and invitingly pulls the blonde closer.

Eager to prove the relevance of her qualities versus those of the Red Sox, Maura kisses her again and slides her hands under Jane's shirt, leaving little doubt about her intention to win this championship. "How about now?"

"Advancing to second base…," Jane gasps out in between two kisses. "When do we have to leave for your surprise thing?"

"In about three hours…"

"Then I suggest you seize those hours to hit a home run or two…"

And as Maura gladly prepares to score, Jane swiftly reaches for one of the blankets and wraps them both in its soft fabric. Just in case Bass or Jo Friday may still be watching…

…

…

Three hours later, after Maura proved once and for all that she is clearly out of the Red Sox' league, Jane rushes out of the shower and into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but a large towel, and rummages through a bag of clothes lazily stowed away under her half of the bed. When she realizes that her lack of knowledge about this evening's planned events makes the selection of appropriate clothes rather difficult, she hurries to the door and waits until she hears Maura in her walk-in closet around the corner.

"Where did you say we're going?"

"I didn't say anything," the blonde's voice responds from next door.

"But if you're not telling me, I don't know what to wear," Jane tries again.

"Wear something casual."

Crossing several options from her list of activities that Maura might have planned, Jane returns to the bed but then realizes the need for further clarification and rushes back to the door. "_Casual-casual_ or _Maura-Isles-casual_?"

"Casual-casual…"

"Okay… but don't complain about it later…"

Still without a clue regarding their plans, Jane picks a pair of jeans and another one of her T-shirts and gets ready for whatever may be awaiting her.

A few minutes later, as they meet at the front door downstairs and, not surprisingly, Maura has opted for clothes from the _Maura-Isles-casual_ category, Jane acknowledges it with a silent grin and focuses on the bag in the blonde's hands instead.

"Whatcha got in there?"

"You'll see soon." Ignoring Jane's inquisitively raised eyebrow, Maura grabs her car keys and holds open the door.

But if there's one thing Detective Jane Rizzoli can't deal with, it's the inability to solve a case. And thus, she fishes for another clue. "How do I know you're not going to kidnap me or something?"

"I guess you'll have to trust me," Maura smiles teasingly.

"At least let me drive."

"How? You don't know where we're going…"

"Then you'd better tell me," Jane suggests and supports her plea with a passionate kiss.

But as soon as she tries to snatch the keys from Maura's hand, the blonde sees through her plan and quickly escapes to her driveway. "You're so impatient…"

With a disappointed pout, Jane locks the door behind them, trudges to Maura's Prius, and reluctantly enters on the passenger side.

Once Maura has taken her seat behind the wheel, she starts the car but then pauses and fishes a silk scarf out of her bag. "Here, put this on."

"Huh?" The brunette stares at her in confusion.

"As a blindfold. I don't want you to see where we're going."

"Come on, really?!"

"Yes, really," Maura insists and nervously checks her car's clock. "And hurry up; we don't want to be late."

Reluctantly, Jane follows Maura's instructions, determined to outsmart the blonde by paying close attention to every turn along the way. After all, she knows the streets of Boston like the back of her hand and doesn't require any visual input to identify their destination. Unfortunately, just moments later, her plan vanishes into thin air when Maura breathes a thankful kiss onto her cheek, thereby making her forget already whether they took a left turn or a right turn out of the driveway.

And thus, Jane finally gives up her attempts to solve this puzzle and lets her mind wander off into a different direction instead. "Just so you know, this scarf will be used again later tonight…"

Smiling to herself at the thought and hoping that it will suffice to keep Jane distracted for the short duration of their ride, Maura merges into the traffic on Commonwealth Avenue. But as usual, she has clearly underestimated the brunette's impatience.

After only two blocks, Jane wiggles on her seat, barely resisting the urge to pull off the scarf. "I feel silly with this on…"

Amused, Maura glances at her from the side. "Well, you do look a little silly…"

"You're not helping, Maura!"

"Sorry…," the blonde chuckles. "Just a little longer… It's not far."

But _not far_ is still not close enough. At least not for Jane. "Are we there yet?"

"No," Maura denies patiently.

Twenty seconds later, her resolve is being tested again. "Now?"

"Nooo."

And like a clockwork, the brunette pipes up again after exactly twenty more seconds. "How about now? You said it's not far…"

"Yes, I did, and I realize my mistake in giving you such imprecise information." Opting for her last resort, Maura gets out a small box of chocolates from her bag. "Here… now, can you please be patient?"

After a few moments of tactile exploration, Jane frowns behind her blindfold. "Hmm… why do I feel like you're trying to bribe me with chocolate whenever you want me to do something?"

"I'm not trying to bribe you…," Maura objects hesitantly.

"I can hear hives pop up on your skin."

"Just eat your chocolate, Jane!"

With a victorious chuckle, the brunette obeys and lets two pieces disappear in her mouth.

And fortunately, there are just enough chocolates in that box to prevent any further interruptions from the passenger seat for the remainder of their ride.

Ten minutes later, Maura sighs in relief. "Okay, we're here… You may look now."

"Hey, I know this parking garage," Jane declares as soon as she finally takes off the scarf. "Are you… taking me out to the ballgame?"

Delighted by the anticipation in the brunette's face, Maura nods. "If you're referring to the 1908 Tin Pan Alley song, then yes, you are correct."

"But you said your surprise doesn't include the Red Sox?"

"No, you asked whether it includes us, the Red Sox, _and my couch_," Maura corrects Jane's mistake. "And as you can see, we did not bring any pieces of furniture." Without further secrecy, she reaches into her bag on the backseat and reveals their two Red Sox T-shirts that Jane bought before the season opener. "And here's your proper outfit."

With a broad grin spreading over her face, Jane follows Maura's example and quickly takes off her T-shirt to replace it with the one in her favorite team's colors, then taps Maura's shoulder. "Wait, you've got something on your shoulder…"

"What is it?"

"Me…," Jane chuckles and kisses the blonde's bare skin.

"As much as I like having you on my shoulder…," Maura objects, regret resonating in her voice. "But we're gonna be late… The Red Sox won't be waiting for us…"

But the brunette's priorities seem to have shifted a bit. "I don't care about the Red Sox…"

"Yes, you do," Maura reminds her and gently pushes her away, then finishes getting dressed. "Now, let's go."

Cursing her love of the Red Sox for the very first time in her life, Jane sighs and gets out of the car. "Wait, they're playing the Yankees today!"

"That is correct," Maura confirms.

"But it's damn hard to get last-minute tickets when they're playing the Yankees."

"That is also correct."

"Hmm," Jane curiously studies the blonde from the side as they're strolling towards the ballpark. "So, you've been planning this for a while?"

Maura ponders the question for a moment but then shakes her head. "No, not really."

"Uh, but we do have seats? I mean, we won't have to peek through some holes in the Green Monster, right?"

"I think you'll find our seats acceptable."

"And I assume you won't tell me more until we're inside?"

"You assume correctly."

Unable to get more information, Jane heaves an exaggerated sigh and trudges along. But her attempts to punish Maura's continued secrecy by withholding any signs of excitement are soon forgotten when they mingle with the crowds on Yawkey Way and the pre-game celebrations inevitably bring a huge smile to her face.

Minutes later, that smile mixes with curiosity and slight irritation as they enter the ballpark at Gate D — far away from the bleachers and other cheaper seats — and Maura leads her straight to the field box between home and first base.

"Wait, where are we going?" Worried that Maura may be equally unfamiliar with the ground rules as she is with the Red Sox roster, Jane holds her back. "We can't just pick any seats we want…"

"I know," Maura assures her with a mischievous wink and marches down the stairs to the front rows.

Already expecting to be banned for life from her beloved ballpark, Jane nervously follows the blonde. "You're gonna get us into trouble, aren't you?"

And when Maura stops at two empty seats in the fourth row, diagonally right behind the Red Sox dugout, Jane instinctively glances around, knowing for sure that one of the ushers will throw them out any minute now. But Maura is completely at ease and inspects their seats, subtly wrinkling her nose at the necessity to remove some empty peanut shells with a paper tissue first.

Still uncertain, Jane watches the blonde finish her sanitary measures and then take her seat. "Are you serious?!"

"Yes. Contrary to my expectations, these seats are surprisingly ergonomic," Maura notes approvingly. "And the view is quite alright, don't you think?"

"Uh huh…," Jane murmurs absentmindedly as her attention is fully captured by the players warming up on the field just a few feet away.

"How about you sit down?" Rejoicing in the apparent success of her surprise, Maura pulls the brunette down into her seat. "Unless you'd like to go back home to watch the game on my couch."

"Hell no!" Still keeping an eye on the action near the dugout, Jane hesitantly makes herself comfortable. "But you can't buy these kinda seats. At least not legally — will I have to arrest you again?"

"No, you will not," the blonde quickly denies, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment when two middle-aged men in the row in front of them turn around in curiosity.

"Seriously, people would kill for these seats," Jane insists, oblivious to the other fans listening in on their conversation. "If there's going to be another unidentified body in your office tomorrow, I'm not sure I can help you get rid of it again."

"There is _not _going to be another body," Maura states resolutely, then smiles appeasingly at the two men still staring at them. "And we did not get rid of the other one. Well…, we did get rid of it, but in perfectly legal ways." When the men raise their eyebrows in confusion, she quickly adds, "I'm the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"Great, and I'm the Governor!" one of the two men declares with a hearty laughter.

But sarcasm has never been Maura's strength. "You do not look like the Governor…"

Trying not to laugh herself, Jane motions to the joker in front of them to turn back around. "Beer is on me if you keep your eyes on the field, buddy."

"Deal!" he agrees only too willingly before he and his friend focus their attention on the game preparations again.

"That man is not the Governor," Maura whispers and indignantly nudges the brunette. "And stop bringing up that unidentified body! You know it was all Pike's fault."

"Sure, sure…," Jane chuckles. "So, how did we get these seats?"

"Well, I happen to know someone who is a season ticket holder," the blonde explains. "And that someone just happened to need a letter of recommendation for his son's college application."

Eyes wide open in feigned shock, Jane gapes at her. "Doctor Isles, isn't that considered abuse of your authority?!"

"No, his son is a bright young man, and I would have written that letter anyway," Maura brushes off the accusation with a smirk. "But he didn't need to know that…"

"For someone who can't lie, you sure know how to avoid the truth…"

Before Maura gets a chance to respond, the ballpark announcer's voice drowns out everything else, and with partly scientific, partly personal curiosity, she watches the official pre-game ceremonies unfold on the field. And even though she still feels like an ethnographer observing the strange rituals of a baseball-infatuated tribe, from the singing of the national anthem to the ceremonial first pitch, Maura slowly lets the charm of Fenway Park win her over and soon finds herself cheering along with the crowds as the Yankees prepare for their first at-bat.

But when certain chants grow louder and louder and everybody but her seems to know what's going on, her fascination turns into momentary confusion, and she taps the brunette. "What are they yelling?"

"They're yelling _'Yankees suck!'_" Jane grins gleefully. "And you will have to yell it, too."

"Why would I be yelling that?" The suggestion seems oddly inappropriate to Maura. "I don't bear any animosities toward these players…"

"Because they're the Yankees and they suck," the brunette declares matter-of-factly. "Come on, it's part of the game."

Hesitantly fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, Maura waits and listens to the chants filling the whole ballpark. But when she catches a glimpse of Jane's expectant eyes and the notion of disappointing the biggest Red Sox fan she knows feels even more inappropriate, she takes a deep breath, turns to the field, and yells in the most polite fashion one could imagine. "Yankees act like a vacuum surrounded by higher-pressure fluids!"

When several people in the seats around them stare at Maura in confusion, Jane snorts with laughter. "She's saying _'Yankees suck'…_"

"Ah, yes…," those other fans nod in unison. "They sure do!"

Leading by example, Jane cups her hands around her mouth and joins the chants. "Yankees suuuuck!" Encouragingly, she nudges a still hesitating Maura. "Come on, you can do it."

And finally, the blonde sheds her reservations and lets it all out, much louder than Jane has ever heard her yell before. And it feels inappropriately awesome. To both of them.

"Gosh, that _is_ fun!" Maura declares with excitement. "It has a certain cathartic effect… Which, by the way, originates in the Greek word—"

"No, no, no," Jane quickly prevents the impending lecture. "Can we save the word games for later and just keep yelling right now?"

"Sorry…," Maura chuckles. "But you'll have to yell with me."

"You bet I will!" Jane agrees and happily encloses the blonde's hand in her own. "On the count of three, alright? One, two, three!"

"_YANKEES SUCK!" — "YANKEES SUCK!"_

…

…

Several innings and a lot of yelling later, Jane is comfortably slouching in her seat, beer and Cracker Jacks in hand and two hot dogs already on their way to her digestive tract as she eagerly follows the fiercely contested match between the two long-time rivals on the field. And even though she has attended numerous games before, she can't remember one that felt as perfect as this one today. Cheerfully sipping her beer, she glances at Maura next to her but instantly frowns in disapproval when she notices that the blonde's attention is fully focused on the Yankee currently swinging his bat. And judging from Maura's characteristically tilted head, she clearly isn't interested in his proper batting stance.

Unmistakably, Jane clears her throat. "Could you _not_ stare at Ellsbury like that?"

"Why not?" Maura wonders innocently without averting her eyes. "I can still appreciate his perfectly formed gluteus maximus. Doesn't mean I want to take him home." But when her interest in the Yankee's anatomy is met with prolonged pouting and silence, she smiles at Jane and squeezes her hand. "I already have someone to take home… And I don't need anybody else."

"Then stop staring at him…," the brunette demands grouchily.

"You're cute when you're jealous," Maura chuckles.

"I'm not jealous…"

"You are too."

"No, I'm not," Jane insists. "But that guy used to play for us before he sold out and joined the Dark Side." To further illustrate her indignation about such betrayal, she turns to the field, waits for Ellsbury to get ready for the pitch, then yells at him with perfect timing. "Hey, Ellsbury, you suck!"

And much to the joy of the crowds, the Yankee strikes out, though probably less because of the brunette's yelling and more because of a perfectly thrown curve ball by the Red Sox pitcher.

"Told ya!" Jane yells after Ellsbury as he trudges back to the Yankees dugout, his head hanging low.

When the Red Sox prepare for their own at-bat and a hint of jealousy still fills Jane's face, Maura leans closer and alluringly whispers into the brunette's ear. "If I promise to stop staring now, will I be allowed to do a little staring later tonight?"

"Maybe…," Jane grins, her mood instantly changing for the better.

"Only maybe?"

"Well, I guess if the Sox win this, I may be up for a little bedroom celebration…"

And whether it's due to Jane's seductive wink, or due to the two beers she's had, or simply due to the irresistible magic of the historic ballpark, Maura rises from her seat and enthusiastically cheers for her preferred team. "Let's go, Red Sox! Come on!"

And like a chain reaction, some fans nearby stand up, too, and join her chants, then more and more people follow her lead, until the whole crowd is soon cheering for their beloved team.

"It appears they're all rooting for my cause…," the blonde confidently grins at Jane.

"You're crazy, you know that?" the brunette comments with amusement and gets up as well.

"Not by any formal definition or standard, no." Without waiting for permission, Maura snatches some Cracker Jacks from the bag in Jane's hand.

"Well, I set my own standards," Jane smiles and casually wraps her arm around Maura's shoulder.

Another two eventful innings later, when Maura realizes that the length of the game would have warranted a slightly different distribution of her cheering efforts, she tiredly leans against Jane's arm and decides to spend the remaining innings in a more passive position. Her newly found love of America's favorite pastime, however, is still as strong as before. "We should do this more often…"

"Well, do you have more acquaintances whose kids need letters of recommendation?"

"No, but we can still buy regular tickets, can't we?"

"Yeah, sure," Jane confirms. And she honestly wouldn't mind sitting at the far end of the bleachers as long as Maura would be sitting right next to her. "So, you like it here?"

"Yes."

"I have to warn you though, there's gonna be singing very soon…"

Confused, Maura looks up. "Singing?"

"Yup, middle of the eighth inning. Just another one of our crazy traditions," Jane explains. "And given everybody's level of intoxication, it's not gonna be pretty."

"Well, it could be worse… I'm sure I'll survive that…"

Biting her lip to push back the memories briefly flashing up in her mind at Maura's choice of words, Jane takes the blonde's hand, locks her fingers with Maura's, and lets the warmth and familiarity of their touch guide her mind back to the comfort of her surroundings. "So, you're ready to become a member of Red Sox Nation?"

"I suppose…," Maura affirms, trying to decipher Jane's question. "What do I have to do to become an official member?"

"Just raise your hand and speak after me," Jane grins and waits for the blonde to raise her other hand. "_I, Maura Isles…_"

"I, Maura Isles…," Maura repeats dutifully.

"… _take the Red Sox to be my one and only favorite team from this day forward._"

"… take the Red Sox to be my one and only favorite team from this day forward."

"_In the presence of these 35,000 fans…,_" Jane quickly lets her eyes wander over the crowds. "… _eh, give or take…_"

Suppressing a chuckle, Maura continues her oath. "In the presence of these 35,000 fans…"

"_I offer my solemn vow to be a faithful fan in good times and in bad, in joy as well as in sorrow._"

"I offer my solemn vow to be a faithful fan in good times and in bad, in joy as well as in sorrow."

"_I promise to love those Red Sox unconditionally_…"

"I promise to love those Red Sox unconditionally…"

Trying to stress the importance of the next segment, Jane makes sure to accompany it with a particularly stern look. _"… to hate the Yankees from the bottom of my heart…"_

"… to hate the Yankees from the bottom of my heart…," Maura repeats, giving her best to mimic the brunette's serious expression.

"… _and to make sure that Jane never has to watch a game without a sixpack of cold beer at hand." _

Unable to hide her smile any longer, Maura squeezes Jane's hand. "… and to make sure that you never have to watch a game without a sixpack of cold beer at hand."

Still in her role as emcee, Jane hands Maura her plastic cup with beer, reaches for her own from the cup holder, and crosses arms with the blonde. "Cheers…"

"Cheers…" Having already familiarized her taste buds with the lukewarm brew, Maura bravely downs her drink. "Is that it? Am I an official member now?"

"Almost…"

"What else?"

"You still need to be approved by an existing member," Jane announces teasingly. "Coincidentally, I am qualified to grant such approval."

With feigned surprise, the blonde raises her eyebrow. "You are?"

"Yup…" Determined to complete Maura's admission ceremony, Jane leans forward to seal it with a kiss lasting almost as long as the Yankees' next at-bat. "Welcome to Red Sox Nation…"

And, not surprisingly, their little ceremony has piqued the interest of the two men in the seats directly in front of their own.

"What?!" Jane groans disapprovingly when she notices their outright staring.

"We'd like to apply for membership, too…," one of them declares with a broad and tipsy smirk.

"Not in this lifetime," Jane denies and points at his BPD-sponsored beer. "Eyes front!"

Sullenly remembering their deal, the two men return their attention to the field.

And Jane returns her attention to Maura. "So, I take back what I said earlier… I do like this surprise."

"Good," the blonde smiles and brings their lips together once more — until they both feel two pairs of prying eyes on them again.

Annoyed, Jane breaks from the kiss and glares at the two gawking men. "Seriously, if you don't want to end up on my partner's autopsy table, I suggest you stop staring and turn back around!"

When their uninvited audience begrudgingly follows orders and focuses on the last innings of the game instead, Maura playfully nudges Jane. "Guess what…"

"What?"

"I love you."

"That's… convenient…," Jane grins after a moment of surprise. "Because I happen to love you, too."

Ignoring the Red Sox preventing another Yankees run and ending the top of the eighth inning, Jane and Maura merge into another kiss when the first verses of the traditional Neil Diamond song are played over the ballpark's sound system.

_Where it began, I can't begin to knowin'  
__But then I know it's growing strong_

And as in every eighth-inning break over the last years, fans rise from their seats, waving their hands and occasionally spilling their beer and singing along without restraint.

_Was in the spring  
__And spring became the summer  
__Who'd have believed you'd come along._

Oblivious to the chanting crowds surrounding them, Jane and Maura take their sweet time to finish their own eighth-inning ritual, both of them eager and ready to turn this into their very own Fenway Park tradition with many recurrences to come.

_Hands, touchin' hands  
__Reachin' out,  
__Touchin' me, touchin' you_

When the chants echoing through the night finally get too loud to ignore, Jane and Maura reluctantly end their kiss and stand up as well to join in for the chorus, fingers still entwined and faces filled with a smile.

_Sweet Caroline  
__OH OH OH!  
__Good times never seemed so good  
__SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!_

And as another showdown between the Yankees and the Red Sox nears its end, with a season full of possibilities still ahead, Jane teasingly grins at the blonde. "Just to avoid any misunderstandings — can you say it again?"

Smiling in amusement, Maura pecks her on the cheek. "I love you, Jane."

"Love you, too, Maura," Jane smiles back. "Even a little more than Fenway Park…"

And even though neither of them remembers much of the actual game, they both know for sure that it will end with another home run.

…

…

_THE END_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ So, there. Sorry for the cheesiness — I couldn't resist. Attend a Red Sox - Yankees game at Fenway on a warm summer night, and you'll understand. :-)  
Not sure if/when I'll write another one of these fics, since there's a lot of other stuff on my To Do list. And I don't know how many of you actually read these or just check in to see if there's a baby or a wedding or silly soap opera crap hidden in here. Sorry, there's not, and there won't be any time soon. :-P _

_But most important, let's hope that JNash & Co. will bring back better writing to the show! *fingers crossed*_


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